


Sailing Through

by xmjcx



Series: sailing through [1]
Category: Frozen (Disney Movies)
Genre: Angst, Arranged Marriage, Death, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/M, Guns, Kristanna, Pirates, Slow Burn, Swordfighting, Violence, Weapons, bad guy elsa, broken down familial relationships, captain kristoff, just like normal pirate things idk, kidnap, some gore, threatened sexual assault, threatened violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:34:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 40
Words: 147,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23071783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xmjcx/pseuds/xmjcx
Summary: After the death of her parents when she is sixteen years old, Anna knew that her life would never be the same again - though she didn't think that it would turn out quite like this, either.
Relationships: Anna/Kristoff (Disney)
Series: sailing through [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1762654
Comments: 1018
Kudos: 340





	1. Chapter 1

The first time that her world ends, Anna Arendelle is sixteen years old.  
  
 _I’m so sorry_ , the young police officer says as he stands by her front door. The corners of his mouth are downturned and his dark brown eyes are troubled.  
  
She doesn’t make sense of the words that follow him from then on – some register in her mind, like _your parents_ and _drunk driver_ and _dead upon arrival_ – but the world around her seems to slow right down, and Anna finds it difficult to process any of the information that he reels off.  
  
He looks to be genuinely upset, at least; and Anna thinks that of all of the horrific things that this man in uniform has to deal with on a daily basis – the verbal abuse from bold youths, the physical attacks from violent citizens, the drug abuse and the domestic violence and the children who suffer as a result – that this has to be one of the most awful parts of his role.  
  
Anna had watched this stranger’s lips move in slow motion, but it quickly comes back to full speed once Elsa’s knees buckle from where she has been stood beside her in the large doorway. Anna can only watch – her lips slightly parted and her brows furrowed – as her sister crumples to the floor, her body shaking as loud sobs escape her.  
  
It isn’t really the time or the place, and yet all Anna can think of is the fact that she hasn’t seen her older sister cry since their childhood, and even then, her tears had never been like this. Elsa is usually so cool and calm and collected, controlled beyond measure, and she _never_ lets her emotions get the better of her.  
  
Anna is vaguely aware of how odd they must appear – Elsa, clearly the older of the two, a crying, crumpled mess on the floor, whilst Anna stands tall and blank and emotionless. Panic and hurt and desperation all bubble within her, yet none of those things show on her face.  
  
Her mouth and throat are so very dry, and she doesn’t even know what it is that she says to the officer – something between a thanks and a dismissal – but moments later, he’s backing away as she pushes the front door to a close. She stands there for a beat or two, her palm wrapped against the bronze door handle in order to steady her body as she listens to the sound of her sister’s gut-wrenching sobs.  
  
This is a role-reversal if she ever did know one, although the police officer hadn’t known that, and he had looked her at her as though he had expected her to break down into a sobbing mess on the floor, too.  
  
She doesn’t though. The tears don’t come until a good ten minutes or so later, once Elsa has pulled herself to stand only to run up the spiral staircase and slam her bedroom door to a close. Then – when Anna is surrounded by nothing but silence and the realisation that her parents are never coming home – she breaks down; and the redhead at least has the sense to lock the front door before she sinks to the floor and cries herself to sleep in the porch.

.

.

.

Life as Anna has always known it changes dramatically.  
  
Though she knows that they should, her priorities no longer lie with school and homework and exams and grades. She can’t help but be fickle with her emotions – some days, she tells herself that she has more important things to focus on, and others, she gets frustrated because she knows that she still has a life to live.  
  
She’s still _here_ , unlike them; and Anna knows that her mother and father wanted her to do well in life, wanted her to follow her dreams, but their deaths have completely altered the way that she sees the world. Now, she isn’t sure that she can see a life for herself where she even has the _chance_ to focus on school.  
  
The thing is, though; whilst Anna’s hardly doing well, Elsa is struggling to even muster up the strength to leave her bedroom, and _someone_ has to arrange things, since they have no other family around to guide or support them. And since her sister can’t, Anna has to; so, she finds herself planning a funeral and meeting with lawyers and discussing wills and mortgage payments and inheritance money, and it’s impossible _not_ to feel overwhelmed with this new world that she has been thrust into, and yet Anna embraces it as much as she can, anyway.  
  
They days are difficult, but the nights are so much worse. Her body is tired and her mind is exhausted, but Anna doesn’t find comfort in her dreams anymore. Instead, she is plagued by nightmares; vivid visions of their bodies being hurled into the air as they cross the road, clear pictures of their distorted faces and bodies lay still on the sidewalk, covered in blood.  
  
When she doesn’t sleep, Anna is troubled by her wandering thoughts; and she wonders if they had time to at least reach out to intertwine their fingers before the car collided with them, wonders if they thought of her and Elsa before they exhaled their final breaths.  
  
Worst of all, she wonders where they are now.

.

.

.

  
Elsa leaves two years later.  
  
In her sister's defense, the trip _had_ been planned out for months upon end, although Anna hadn’t been particularly keen on the idea of her older sibling travelling the world alone. Yet a virus broke out over three weeks ago now – it’s thought to have originated in China, although very little is known about it – and Anna had rolled her eyes along with her sister about it at first, hadn’t given it much thought at all; but the media report that it has claimed the lives of thousands across the globe already, and the government had gone as far as to issue warnings for people to remain indoors wherever possible.  
  
It’s starting to worry Anna, now; the bare shelves that she sees when she stops by the store, and the masks that she spots people wearing over their faces.  
  
Elsa doesn’t seem to think that it’s anything worth worrying about, though.  
  
“I’m not cancelling this trip, Anna,” her sister tells her as she defiantly zips up her neatly packed suitcase.  
  
Anna sighs; exhausted and frustrated and, admittedly, a little worried. She had started to stock up on necessities a few days ago – things that she thought were useful, and practical, like toilet roll and canned foods and toothpaste and bottled water – just in case they did need them; yet whilst she found herself getting more and more twitched about it, Elsa didn’t seem to care much and put it all down to the media hyping everything up.  
  
“I’m not asking you to cancel, Elsa,” Anna says as she attempts a casual tone. “You could – I don’t know, _re-arrange_ , maybe? Just until all of this blows over, and then –”  
  
“No.”  
  
“– well, it’s just that if anything _did_ happen, we’d at least be together –”  
  
“I said _no_ , Anna,” Elsa snapped as she pushed herself upright from where she had been kneeling on her bedroom floor, satisfied now that she had finished with her packing. Anna’s mouth closed immediately, and her older sister regarded her for a second longer before her shoulders slumped slightly. “Look, I can’t - I’m not re-scheduling this trip, okay? I've spent far too much money and time planning it all out, and I – I _want_ to go. I don’t want to stay here.”  
  
There’s an underlying sadness in her voice, and Anna hears the words that Elsa can’t say.  
  
 _I don’t want to stay here with_ you _._  
  
Anna gives up, then, which she had known all along she would have to do at some point. It was silly of her to think that she could convince Elsa not to leave in the first place – the blonde always _had_ been so stubborn – but she would have never forgiven herself if she didn’t at least _try_ to convince Elsa to stay, at least until all of this nonesense with the virus had blown over.  
  
“Okay,” Anna says with a defeated sigh. “I - okay.”  
  
 _You win_.

.

.

.

Anna tries her best to be optimistic, though it’s hard.

  
_It’s only six weeks_ , she tells herself. _Elsa will be back in no time, and all of this hype about the virus will have settled down by then, and everything will be back to normal._

.

.

.

At first, everything _does_ seem fine. The virus is still spreading rapidly, and it’s all that people talk about on the news and at school; but there have been rumours whirling round about a vaccine, and even a potential cure, and the government still provide daily updates in order to reassure people about what’s going on, so Anna tries not to fret about it all too much.  
  
 _You’re all too young to remember SARS,_ one of her teachers declares when the class are discussing the virus, _but this is exactly the same. You’ve all got nothing to worry about. Now – can we focus on what’s really important here, please? Page 112._  
  
Elsa sends her a postcard from Florida, and Anna smiles as her fingers dance over the elegant penmanship. Her sister talks about rumours of a cure, too, which surprises Anna a little, since she had been so insistent that the virus was nothing to worry about before she left. She thinks that Elsa must be teasing her a little, though, because she also writes that there is a rumour that _pirates_ are the ones dealing with it; and although she’s alone, Anna rolls her eyes at the thought.  
  
 _Pirates_.  
  
Anna wants to respond to her sister in ink, but she can’t, since Elsa has left no return address for her; and so she settles on sending her a quick text to let her know that she has received it, and to let her know that she’s thinking of her, wherever it is that she’s travelling to next.  
  
The message delivers, though it sits unread. In the meantime, the advice from the government seems to becoming more and more drastic, and the public are being discouraged from going outdoors at all, for fear that they will contract the virus, and anyone who demonstrates a list of vague symptoms – from a tickly cough and blocked nose – are instructed to call a non-emergency line in order to be assessed, tested, and even quarantined appropriately.  
  
Despite her sister’s teasing, Anna is grateful that she decided to stock up on things when she did.  
  
She worries, of course; especially now that she no longer has her classes to distract her. Anna hopes that her sister is healthy and safe and unaffected, wherever she might be. And when it all starts to feel too much, Anna reassures herself by re-reading Elsa’s postcard.  
  
 _Hope you’re well, and I’ll see you soon,_ Elsa had written at the bottom, and Anna tries to channel that confidence.

.

.

.

It’s been six months, and Anna’s hopes for her sister to return home safe and well and unharmed have started to dwindle. She won’t give up on her sister, but she knows that it’s not fair to herself to keep holding on with bated breath like this, and she sadly accepts that Elsa isn’t coming home anytime soon.  
  
Her phone lost signal weeks ago, and the television doesn’t work anymore, either, but Anna has followed the last advice that she saw the government put out; which was for all survivors to board up any points of entry to their homes and sit tight until they were located by the military and brought to a safe zone.  
  
It all sounded _very_ over-dramatic, and Anna wasn’t even sure _how_ she could board up the many windows and doors of the large house, but she somehow managed. 

The days were dull and long and lonely, but Anna was pleased with herself for how carefully she had managed to ration her food, and she had even started alternating so that she still had some of her favourites left, just in case it took a while for anyone from the military to reach her. She couldn’t be certain of just _how_ they would find her, but she had to have faith, had to _believe_ that someone was coming.  
  
The alternative option would destroy her.

.

.

.

Anna wakes to the sound of her front door being kicked down.  
  
She panics, at first; her heart pounding in her chest so harshly that she swears she can hear it in her ears, and adrenaline courses through her body as she lunges upright in bed. Her bedroom is masked in darkness, and she reaches her hand out and grasps blindly down the side of her mattress until her hand wraps around the cool base of the baseball bat that had belonged to her father.  
  
Anna has no idea what she’s going to do with it, but it doesn’t matter, because it makes her feel more confident and capable as she holds it in her palm. The weight of it is something to focus on, and she swallows thickly at the sound of heavy boots striding carefully across the laminate flooring of the living room beneath her.  
  
The way that she sees it, she has two options to choose from: run and hide or stay and fight. There is a small part of her – ever so optimistic – that wonders whether this might be the military man or woman that she has been waiting all these months for; but somehow, she knows that it isn’t. Instinct takes over, and with a deep breath, Anna makes her choice and slowly steps towards her bedroom door, which she had left slightly ajar.  
  
The heavy footsteps don’t hesitate as they begin to make their way up the spiral staircase, and it’s almost as if they know exactly where to find her. The thought disturbs her, and Anna inhales deeply as she focuses on counting the steps.  
  
She can tell that the intruder is a living person by the way that they move so easily and breathe so quietly, unlike the monster that she had seen pressed up against her front window, and Anna isn’t sure whether or not that’s a good thing. She can’t remember the last time that she interacted with another human – most likely when she was last at school, and that felt like a lifetime ago – and the redhead had a feeling that not everyone who was alive and well would necessarily be kind and generous.  
  
She continues to count until they have almost reached the top of the stairs, and she uses her foot to push open her bedroom door in an attempt to startle them into standing still. She slowly steps out into the hallway, the baseball bat raised mid-air as she grips it tightly with both hands, and she keeps her eyes locked intently on the man who stands one the second step.  
  
Silence, for a beat or two.  
  
And then he laughs.  
  
Honest to god _laughs_.  
  
Anna shuffles her feet a little, feeling somewhat self-conscious as she continues to eye him carefully.  
  
He’s older than her – has at least fifteen, if not twenty years on her – and he’s rather plump around the middle, though he’s tall, too. It’s hard to distinguish his intentions, since she has only just laid eyes upon him, but he _appears_ to be rather harmless; though Anna still spots what looks to be a gun tucked into his waistband, and she holds onto the bat a little tighter.  
  
“Who are you?” she asks, and she wills her voice not to break as she speaks.  
  
The man cocks his head to the side as he regards her properly. “Are you Anna?” he asks with a smirk, and Anna swallows thickly.  
  
“I asked you first,” she tells him, and the man chuckles before he introduces himself.  
  
“Kai,” he says, and it’s a name so short and simple that Anna doesn’t know whether or not she should believe him, but she reasons with herself that it’s not as though it matters so much what his name is. “And you’re Anna,” he finishes, confident and sure this time, and although she doesn’t seem keen on the fact that he knows her name, Anna nods her head anyway.  
  
“Yes,” she confirms, though she doesn’t lower the bat. “Why?”  
  
The man named Kai chuckles again, and Anna wonders what’s so amusing. “I just needed to be sure, though it would appear that your sister described you quite accurately.”  
  
Anna’s body stiffens at his words, and her fingers begin to tremble as her mouth opens and closes. “I - _what_?” she balks, her eyes wide. “Elsa sent you?”  
  
Kai shakes his head slowly as he lazily moves his knee up the final step so that he is now standing flat on the ground of the hallway, and she is able to get a better look of him from this angle. He is dressed rather strangely, she thinks, although she can’t quite put her finger on _why_. He’s wearing mostly dark clothing with dirty brown boots, though the dark green jacket he wears is almost formal.  
  
“No,” he sighs. “ _Elsa_ didn’t send me. The Captain did.”  
  
Anna frowns at that. “Wait, _what_?” she says as she narrows her eyes, and she slowly lowers the bat so that she can see more of his face. “Who is the – and how do you –” she struggles to finish either of her questions, the words falling out of her mouth without grace, and Kai rolls his eyes at her.  
  
“It doesn’t matter how I know your sister,” he drawls, and he sounds almost _bored_ , “and you’ll meet the Captain soon enough. Now, you need to put that bat down and pack your things.”  
  
Her frown deepens, and Anna feels anger bubble within her. _Who the hell did this guy think he was?_ “What? Are you – no. No, I’m not packing anything until you tell me how you know my sister.”  
  
“I already told you, it doesn’t matter,” he says, and Anna can see that he’s beginning to lose his patience with her. “I’ve been sent here to collect you, so I suggest that you pack your things. If not, then you’re more than welcome to freeze to death on board wearing _that_.”  
  
He makes a point of looking her up and down, since she’s wearing nothing but her cotton nightdress; and in another world, Anna would have flushed brightly, but she can’t feel anything other than shock as she attempts to make sense of his words.  
  
This man knows her sister, and it sounds like Elsa had even described her to him, so that had to be a positive – right? Elsa would never just hand Anna over to someone _dangerous_ , so she had to be confident that this man was good, and honest, and noble. It doesn’t sound like he’s taking her to her sister, though; not from his mention of this captain, or from his reluctance to explain how he knows her, but _still_ –  
  
“Is she alive?” Anna asks, her voice low, now; barely above a whisper, and her shoulders sag in relief when he nods. “Thank _God_ ,” she breathes, and her fingers tremble violently as she still clings to the bat. “And - and this _Captain_ –”  
  
“Enough,” Kai cuts her off, and she can tell from his tone that he absolutely means it. He narrows his eyes at her as he inspects her once more. “How old are you?” he asks, and Anna swallows thickly as she wonders what Elsa has told him.  
  
“Eighteen,” she decides to opt for the truth. “Nineteen next month.”  
  
Kai’s tense expression relaxes a little at that. “Your sister was honest about one thing, then,” he mutters under his breath, although Anna hears every word.  
  
“I - _what_?”  
  
“Look,” he sighs, and he appears to genuinely be cautious as he peers to the bottom of the staircase. “We really do need to hurry. It’s a long drive, and it’s already late. But if you pack your things _quickly_ , then I’ll tell you what I can in the car.”  
  
Anna bites down on her bottom lip as she debates with herself over what to do. Truthfully, she isn’t sure what other option she has – after all, this man is carrying a gun, and he wants her to go with him so that he can take her to this _captain_ , and Anna knows that her baseball bat won’t do much to protect her from a bullet, should he opt to use it against her.  
  
Up until this moment, Anna had the upmost faith in her sister that she would have never willingly handed her over to someone who couldn’t be trusted; and yet this man hardly sounded fond of Elsa, so the redhead wasn’t sure whether or not it would be a wise choice to go with him, after all. Perhaps it was all a trap, or a trick, but Anna couldn’t understand how he would know her name and what she looked like and where she lived without Elsa’s guidance.  
  
Deep down, Anna knew that she had no real choice in the matter, either. The life that she had here was barely anything worth bragging about – no family around her, her sister long gone and her parents buried in the ground – and the thought of spending the remainder of her days trapped within these walls eating canned food and drinking bottled water until she ran out of supplies was hardly thrilling.  
  
She thought of how it might feel to see her sister again, and the idea of it was just too tempting for Anna to refuse Kai’s offer.  
  
“Okay,” she nods after a moment of deliberation. “I - I’ll do it. So long as you promise that you’ll tell me everything on the drive over to – where is it that we’re going?”  
  
He smiles at that. “To sea,” he grins, and Anna’s heart sinks as she recalls Elsa’s postcard.  
  
It isn’t possible, though – there’s just no way that –  
  
 _Pirates._


	2. Chapter 2

  
  
Kai doesn’t give her much time at all to pack her things – instead, he tells her to gather up her necessities and meet him where he’s parked on the front drive in five minutes.  
  
Anna gets the impression that he might _actually_ be timing her; and so she scrambles blindly to the back of her wardrobe until she finds a large, bright pink duffle bag dumped unceremoniously at the back.  
  
She grins happily as she retrieves it – _organised chaos: she knew it was there, somewhere_ – and she quickly begins to fill it with absolutely everything she thinks she may need.  
  
Socks and panties are her first priority, although Anna doesn’t bother to look at any of them, just scoops up as many as she can into her dainty hands and drops them straight into the centre of her bag. There’s a small overnight bag that she hasn't used in months still resting on top of her nightstand - filled with some odd pieces of make-up and moisturiser - and Anna shoves that in, too; along with her hairbrush and some hair ties.  
  
Next on her mental check list is pyjamas – ideally not thin, cotton nightdresses like the one that she’s currently wearing – and Anna pulls open the bottom drawer of her bedside table and once again scoops up as many items of clothing as she can before she drops them into the bag, on top of the underwear.  
  
It’s hardly organised, but she’s in a rush; and so Anna presses down firmly onto the pile of clothes in order to work out just how much space she’s got left to work with. Kai specifically told her to pack _one_ bag – _anything else you need, I'm sure the Captain will arrange_ , he had said – and she’s determined to make the most of it.  
  
Anna hovers on the spot for a moment as she considers what she might wear _at sea_ , as Kai had so vaguely put it; but she is helpless and clueless and there’s no internet anymore, so she can’t even _google_ it. Still, she’s hyper-aware of the fact that Kai is waiting for her out front, and she wants him to make good of his promise to tell her what he can about her sister, so she doesn’t want to piss him off.  
  
Unsure of what else she can do, Anna packs the clothes that she thinks will be of most use to her, the ones that seem most practical – thick leggings, tights, jumpers and various shirts – as well as the odd items of clothing that she likes – a few pretty tops and couple of dresses. She just about manages to shove in her white converse and a pair of fluffy slippers before the bag is fit to burst, and Anna sighs in relief when she just about manages to zip it to a close.  
  
Once she has packed her things, Anna makes quick work of removing her nightdress, and she tosses it blindly towards the other side of the bedroom before she focuses on dressing herself. She pulls on a pair of dark skinny jeans, a mustard long-sleeved top and some black boots; and she loops the strap of her duffle bag over her shoulder before she slips her arms into the padded North Face jacket that her father bought for her years ago and begins to make her way towards the door.  
  
The thought of him catches her off guard, however, and her steps falter a little as a result; and Anna sighs sadly as her light blue eyes roam around the bedroom for what might be the last time. In another lifetime, Anna might have been devastated at the thought of what she was losing here – her childhood home _(the only one she had ever known)_ , her bedroom full of trinkets and personal belongings as well as four walls filled with memories of love and company.  
  
But Anna lives in a world where her parents were killed at the hands of a man who couldn’t resist the bottle, where her sister never returned from her trip, where the dead are literally roaming the streets; and so she isn’t going to cry over a bedroom, or a house.  
  
She has no idea what is to come, now: what lies for her ‘at sea’, where her sister is, or what the intentions of this so-called _Captain_ are. All that Anna knows it that it’s a long journey to get them to where they’re going – Kai had told her as much – and so she hesitates only to tuck in a photograph of her family _(her smiling parents, Elsa and her; taken just a few weeks before their deaths)_ into her coat pocket before she steps out of her childhood bedroom.  
  
The door closes behind her with a soft _click_ , and Anna grips tightly to the strap of her bag as she descends the stairs for the final time.

.

.

.

“I said that I would tell you what I _could_ , and that’s it. If you’ve got any more questions, then you’ll have to save them for the Captain,” Kai bit out, and the car jerked sharply in order to dodge the burnt-out, abandoned vehicle that had been discarded slap-bang in the middle of the country road.  
  
Anna had noticed that he’d been avoiding the highways, and she didn’t need to ask him why; could already picture the build-up wreckage of cars, of bodies that seemed dead but weren’t, that wandered aimlessly across the road in search of _something_ -  
  
“You’re lucky that I've told you anything at all,” he continued, though Anna didn’t feel lucky whatsoever. “My job was to pick you up and deliver you to him. Nobody mentioned small-talk, or twenty questions.”  
  
Anna folded her arms across her chest and narrowed her eyes over at Kai from where she sat in the passenger seat. She understood that he had a job to do, and she really _was_ trying to bite her tongue so that she didn’t irritate him too much; but it didn’t change the fact that she was a _person_ , a human being with _feelings_ , and she had just been forced to leave her home without any alternative options to consider, and she didn’t even really understand why.  
  
“I know,” she huffed, although she cringed at the way his hands tightened on the steering wheel at her tone and she quickly corrected herself. “I mean – I do appreciate it. Really. It’s just... I don’t understand. None of this makes any sense,” she half-pouted, and the redhead slumped her head against the window.  
  
Her light eyes followed the line of trees that they sped past – Kai had only shrugged when she had commented on his speeding – and she tried not to think about the fact that it had literally been _months_ since she had set foot outside of her home.  
  
It made her feel a little nauseous.  
  
“You don’t need to understand anything,” Kai replied simply. Anna rolled her eyes at him, though she knew that he wouldn’t see, since he wasn’t paying any attention to her. “There’s no changing what’s already been done and agreed. Your sister caused trouble, Anna – a lot of it. The Captain was kind enough to give her a punishment of remaining on board his ship and working for him – any other man would have killed her for all of the fuss that she caused.” He paused and then sighed. “God knows that I would have done. But Elsa offered _you_ in her place; and now she wanders around god-knows-where, whilst you’re stuck with me for company for the next couple of hours.”  
  
“And then, the Captain,” she murmured, and Kai nodded.  
  
“Yes. And then the Captain.”  
  
This was where it got a little confusing, for her; where the clarity faded into a fuzzy grey cloud, and Anna couldn’t make any sense of, didn’t even know whether she even believed it.  
  
Her relationship with Elsa had always been a little bit rocky, especially since the death of their parents. The blonde had isolated herself from the entire world and had pushed Anna away, too, but they had made their amends – at least, Anna thought that they had – and even if they hadn’t, she was still her _sister_ , and the redhead didn’t think that Elsa would just willingly hand her over to some – some _Captain_ like this.  
  
Anna’s frown deepened the more that she thought about it, and she swallowed thickly before she spoke again. “But what good am I to him?” she asked, genuinely baffled. It struck her as _odd_ that this man would just accept her in Elsa’s place, if Elsa had caused him so much trouble. Surely he would want her sister to pay – what good would having Anna there do, if it meant that Elsa ran free? “What would he have me do that she couldn’t?”  
  
There had to be some kind of bargaining chip – _there always was, wasn’t there_ – although Anna couldn’t understand what would make her a better option to the Captain than her sister. Elsa was older, and arguably more mature as a result; she was a hard-worker, and she was quiet, too, despite Kai’s complaints of her behaviour.  
  
Anna didn’t think that she was necessarily immature, but she knew that eighteen sounded a lot younger than twenty-one to some people; so she wouldn’t have blamed anyone for assuming that she would be nothing more than some silly kid.  
  
Kai didn’t respond to her question immediately. Over the last few hours, Anna had grown accustomed to his silence; and so she simply assumed that he was ignoring her, no doubt another part of his whole _I’ll tell you what I can_ routine.  
  
But after a pregnant pause, he spoke.  
  
“You -” he began, but then he grimaced a little, as though he was carefully choosing his words. This surprised her – she certainly hadn’t expected him to sound so uncomfortable. “You are to be his wife,” Kai finished, and he didn’t turn to look at her; instead, he kept his eyes straight ahead and he focused on the clear road in front of him.  
  
Anna’s felt her heart drop into her stomach.

.

.

.

Anna quickly grows tired of Kai’s silence, though she doesn’t bother to break it, either – she knows that he knows she will have heard what he said to her, and he doesn’t attempt to reassure her, or comfort her, or even say anything at all, and so Anna keeps her mouth shut and glares out of the window.  
  
A wave of emotions dance through her chest.  
  
Fear. Worry. Anger. Frustration. Heartbreak. Sadness. Fury. Panic.  
  
Repeat.  
  
 _You are to be his wife._  
  
She most certainly was not.  
  
Anna keeps those words to herself, though. It was hardly Kai’s problem, how she feels about this situation – after all, he had said himself that he was simply there to pick her up and drop her off, nothing more, nothing less – but she still bubbled with anger, and so she continued to stare out of the car window with her jaw clenched tightly as she thought over what those words meant.  
  
She longs for music to play in the background – anything, really, she isn’t particularly fussy – but radio stations don’t exist anymore, and Anna gets the feeling that Kai wouldn’t be too pleased if she started singing to fill the silence.  
  
At some point in their journey, she falls asleep; lulled by the rumble of the car’s engine and the warmth of the interior. Eventually, she is woken by Kai’s large hand grasping at her shoulder and shaking her rather forcefully; and Anna jolts upright from where she had been slumped against the passenger side door and groans loudly whilst she stretches out her stiff muscles and joints.  
  
“Wake up,” he grumbles to her, and she hears him un-fasten his seatbelt from beside her. “We’re here."

.

.

.

Her senses are overwhelmed.  
  
The smell of the ocean is so strong that Anna can practically taste the salt on her tongue just from inhaling and exhaling the fresh air, and it burns her lungs in an unfamiliar way. The wind is harsh, and it tugs fiercely on her hair; causing it to fly erratically around her face, not dissimilar to the way in which the squawking gulls above her do. The wooden beams that line the dock are uneven beneath her feet, and Anna trips and stumbles a few times because of it.  
  
Still – all that she can focus on is the flurry of ships that sit proudly before her; their sails tall and their anchors dropped down, and Anna’s mouth falls open in awe as she focuses on the beauty of their details.  
  
There’s four of them, and surprisingly enough, they aren’t identical – in fact, each one is so unique that it doesn’t resemble the other at all. They’re absolutely _huge_ , though; so much taller and wider than Anna thought was possible, and she wonders how the crew don’t get lost as they wander around it. The colour of wood that lines each ship is different, and she might not know much – if anything at all – about them, but she can tell just by glancing at them that they are fancy, sleek and modern, and quite clearly very expensive.  
  
“I’ve never seen a ship up close, before,” Anna comments as she follows closely behind Kai, her eyes locked on the masts and white sails that fill the sky above her. She’s hot on his heels, really; the dock is busy and full of burly, loud men, most of whom seem to think she’s invisible, since she’s much below their height, but the ones who _do_ notice her stare with narrowed, suspicious eyes and tightly-pressed lips.  
  
 _Ignore them_ , Kai had frowned as he caught her flushing a few minutes earlier. _They aren’t used to seeing women ‘round these ends._  
  
He had sounded almost protective, though Anna couldn’t find it within her to smile at the thought.  
  
Despite still gaping at the ships, the redhead is aware enough of her surroundings to notice that Kai has brought them to the largest ship of them all; and she swallows thickly as he salutes at a tall, dark man who nods at him in return. As they approach, Anna notices the man look her up and down, and a child-like part of her wants to cower behind Kai and peek out over his shoulder.  
  
 _Be brave_ , she tells herself in as stern as a tone she can imagine. _You’ve got this._  
  
“Mattias,” Kai says, and the man half-smiles at him.  
  
“Kai,” he responds with a nod of his head, and Kai drops the arm that he had raised in salute. “I trust your journey was a good one?”  
  
Kai shrugs his shoulders at that. “I’ve had worse,” he says, and Mattias nods his head once again. “Well - here she is,” he says, and he turns as he waves one of his hands in her direction. “This is Anna. Anna, this is Mattias.”  
  
The man bows his head to her, and Anna leans backwards ever so slightly in shock. She blinks over at Kai – confusion evident in her eyes – although she manages to right herself just as he straightens his back and stands at his full height once again.  
  
“Pleasure to meet you, ma’am,” Mattias says, and she thinks that he sounds at least a little more friendly than Kai. His dark brown eyes are wide and soft, and despite the way her heart pounds nervously in her chest, Anna finds herself smiling softly at him. “Mattias Brown. First mate,” he tells her, and he sounds so _proud_.  
  
“I - the pleasure is all mine, really,” she smiles, feeling more than just a little awkward. “Ah - Anna Arendelle. Um... I guess you already know that, though,” she shrugs a little, although Mattias keeps a straight face.  
  
“Yes,” he agrees, and then he returns his attention back to Kai. “I’ll take it from here, Kai,” he says, and his tone is rather final – leaving no room for negotiation. “The Captain sends his regards.”  
  
Kai seems unphased by Mattias’ dismissal, and he moves to leave when Anna reaches out towards him, a little panic stricken. Despite his grumpy demeanor, Kai is the first human that she’s had contact with in _months_ , and she didn’t realise he’d be going anywhere once he brought her to the ship.  
  
“Wait!” she calls, her voice a little louder than intended, and both Kai and Mattias look surprised. “I - where are you going?” she asks, and Kai’s lips quirk slightly.  
  
“Nowhere far,” he tells her.  
  
“But you’ll be on the ship, too?” she asks. Her shoulders relax a little when he nods his head. “Oh,” she says, a hint of laughter in her tone for her own ridiculousness. She knows it’s not logical – she's pretty sure that Kai doesn’t even _like_ her – but at least he would be a friendly face on a ship full of equally grouchy men. “I suppose I'll see you later, then,” she sighs, and Kai almost smiles.  
  
“You will,” he agrees, and then he’s gone.  
  
“Are you ready?” Mattias asks, and Anna swallows thickly.  
  
Her knuckles are almost white from how tightly she is gripping the strap of her bag, although it’s starting to weigh heavily on her shoulder, and she supposes that she needs to get this over and done with.  
  
“I suppose so,” she murmurs as she cranes her neck and looks into the sky once again. She was as ready as she’d ever be, and as she watches the gulls swoop in between the masts and the large, white sails, she wonders whether Elsa is out there somewhere, whether she’s even thought about her once since she signed her life away.  
  
Mattias leads the way up the sturdy platform that joins the ship to the dock, and Anna follows behind him with wide eyes. She resists the urge to ask him whether he knows anything of her sister, and instead, she focuses on paying close attention the unfamiliar surroundings that she supposes will be her home, for now.  
  
The thought of some strange man expecting her to be his wife already has Anna feeling nauseous, and the way that the boat gently sways and rocks underneath her feet does nothing to settle her stomach.  
  
“Where are we going?” Anna asks as her eyes wander over the many men who are busy around the ship.  
  
They holler and yell at one another; some of them halfway up the masts and calling to the men down below on the deck, others at almost opposite ends of the ship and tossing things between themselves that Anna doesn’t recognise. Unlike the men on the dock, none of them seem to pay her much mind at all, and she wonders whether they’ve all been expecting her, too.  
  
“I’ll see you to the Captain’s quarters,” Mattias informs her as he walks her across the dock. “Although I – why,” he stops, a look of disbelief on his face. “There’s the man himself.”  
  
Anna quirked a brow at that, and she cranes her neck a little in an attempt to see whoever it is that Mattias is looking at, although it’s hard to identify where his gaze is pointed considering the dock is so large and full of men of all different shapes and sizes.  
  
“Was he not supposed to be here?” she asks, confused at the small smile that tugs on Mattias’s lips.  
  
“No - well, yes, he was; but I thought that he’d still be organising the paperwork,” he responds, though he seems a little distracted, to say the least, and Mattias hardly pays any attention to her as he begins to stride forward and heads across the deck. Anna quickly hurries after him, her eyes still narrowed as she searches through the crowd to look for anyone who appears to be particularly captain-ly, although she supposes that she has no idea what a Captain might look like, either.  
  
She almost slams into the back of Mattias, though she manages to stop just in time, and she immediately spots him.  
  
It _has_ to be him, since there is just no way that it could be anyone else. Anna might not have known what a Captain would look like, but as her light blue eyes roam over his form, she decides that he fits the bill perfectly.  
  
 _(Although she is a little disappointed that he isn’t wearing a pirate hat.)_  
  
It’s impossible _not_ to notice him, since he’s so tall; and he easily towers over the men who are gathered around him, looking at him and the map in his hands expectantly. He’s stood casually and scowling down at the map in his hands, and although she can’t hear him over the hustle and bustle of the crew, she can see quite easily that he’s having a relatively heated discussion with one of the smaller men who stands beside him.  
  
He’s dressed in dark clothing that makes his skin look almost golden – black pants and a dark grey shirt that’s rolled up to his elbows, and he has a pair of black boots on to match. His hair is the only light part of him – all sun-kissed blonde – though it’s rather long, and the wind causes it to dance in front of his dark eyes.  
  
Despite his layers of clothing, it’s impossible for her to miss the fact that this man is incredibly broad; and the shirt clings to his biceps in a way that has her eyes widening dramatically. Even his wrists and his exposed forearms are impressively thick, and she tucks some of her wind-swept hair behind her ears as she flushes in memory of Kai’s earlier words.  
  
 _You are to be his wife._  
  
For the first time, she realises what being someone’s wife might entail, and she thinks of how easily it would be for him to break her in two.  
  
Not necessarily with his hands, either – but _oh, boy,_ she’s not going to think about _that_.  
  
“Captain,” Mattias salutes, and the broad blonde looks up at him in acknowledgement and nods his head. He practically shoves the map that he had been holding in his hands to the shorter man who stands closest to him, and the Captain says something that dismisses the group effectively.  
  
He steps forward, then, and _god_ , he’s even taller than she initially realised; although he doesn’t appear to have noticed her lingering awkwardly behind his right-hand man just yet.  
  
“Mattias,” he responds, and the first mate drops his arm at the acknowledgement. “Are we ready to go?”  
  
His voice is unexpectantly smooth, and Anna bites harshly at the inside of her cheek as she fights the urge to blush at the sound of it. Grief, confusion and a lack of sleep has clearly sent her a little crazy; and she vows that despite her initial attraction to this man, she isn’t just going to forget about the fact that he has more or less had her kidnapped from her home to force her to be with him.  
  
 _There has to be something wrong with him_ , she thinks to herself as her eyes wander over his body. _There’s no way that a man who looks like_ this _has to force someone to come and be his wife if there isn’t something wrong with him._  
  
“Yes, all ready,” Mattias told him. “And the men on the ground know they’ve got five minutes to board before we leave.”  
  
The Captain looks pleased enough at that, and his eyes shift slightly as he begins to scan the deck, appearing to take in the sights of the men who are working rapidly, their shouts growing louder and more urgent as they hurry to complete whatever it is they’re doing.  
  
“Alright, then,” he responds, and Anna’s eyes linger on the hard line of his masculine jaw and the fair stubble that kisses his skin.  
  
Mattias clears his throat before he speaks again.  
  
“I -” he starts, and he turns his head slightly over his shoulder so that he can look at Anna standing behind him. Her light blue eyes blink right back up at him for a moment, and then he’s stepping a little towards the left so that he is no longer blocking the Captain’s view of her.  
  
The blonde had continued to watch his men for a moment longer, and so when he turns back to face Mattias, his honey-brown eyes widen in surprise at the sight of her. Silence passes between them for a few seconds before the first mate speaks once more, and Anna’s heart quickens in her chest when she realises that his expression has turned into a full-blown _scowl_ as he stares at her.  
  
“Captain, this is Anna Arendelle,” Mattias explains. “Kai just arrived with her.”  
  
He looks over at Anna once more, although her light blue eyes are locked firmly on the Captain’s. He continues to stare at her as though she’s the worst person he’s ever seen, and Anna can’t help but narrow her own eyes and cling tightly to the strap of her duffle bag.  
  
“Anna,” Mattias says, his dark eyes dancing between the pair of them. “This is your Captain. Kristoff Bjorgman.”  
  
Neither of them say a word.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter well and truly got the better of me and honestly I'm just glad that its done so I can move to the next one hehe
> 
> thank you for your lovely comments you are all so sweet and too kind :) and I hope that the coronavirus which inspired this story in the first place hasn't affected any of you too badly!
> 
> enjoy !

  
  
Mattias shows her to the Captains quarters, and Anna smiles politely at him as he gives her a brief overview of the ship and the rooms that they pass on their way.  
  
There are long, winding passages that have her feeling a little claustrophobic, and he points out various rooms, like the kitchen and the cafeteria and the men’s lounge; but Anna is a _little_ overwhelmed by it all, so none of his vague directions really stick in her mind.  
  
_Come tomorrow morning, she won’t have a clue where any of this is._  
  
Mattias seems to read her mind. “Don’t worry,” he tells her. “Kristoff will make sure that you know this ship life the back of your hand in no time at all.”  
  
_Kristoff._ This is the first time that Mattias has referred to the Captain by his first name – apart from when he introduced the two of them – and she notes that he says it with familiarity; a kind of fondness in his tone that suggests that there’s a friendship there rather than just a working relationship.  
  
“Here we are,” he says to her as they arrive at a tall, broad wooden door that somehow seems an awful lot more _grand_ than the others.  
  
He gestures towards the door, and it’s heavier than she expected to be as she pushes her weight against it so that it creaks slowly open. Anna begins to step over the threshold when she stops upon realising that he isn’t following her through.  
  
Mattias doesn’t linger, and she wonders whether he’s allowed to enter the room without the Captain’s direct permission, since he suddenly seems a little more on edge. She would have at least liked a brief tour of the unfamiliar room, but she’s hardly going to push him on it.  
  
“Let me know if you need anything at all,” he says to her, and she thinks that he might actually mean that. “My room’s just a little further down the corridor.”  
  
Anna leans forward from where she’s hovering in the doorway so that she can see where he vaguely gestures to, although there’s quite a few doors in that direction, so it doesn’t necessarily narrow things down.  
  
Regardless, Anna doubts that she’s going to disturb him anytime soon – he's a friendly face, she supposes, and he’s not done or said anything to make her feel uncomfortable or uneasy, but this new world that she’s been thrown into is completely unlike any that she has ever known, and she doesn’t doubt that it’s wise to be guarded.  
  
It’s going to take some time to figure out who she can and can’t trust, here.  
  
Anna just about manages to give him a small smile. “Thank you,” she says simply, and with that, he’s gone.  
  
She inhales deeply and finds that none of this is what she expected it to be.  
  
Well; the interior of the room is dark, which she _did_ expect, since it’s very much cohesive with the aesthetic of the entire ship. But it’s also modern and minimalistic, in a way; and her eyes greedily explore these new surroundings.  
  
Sat proudly in the centre of the room is a four-poster bed, and she cocks a brow as she looks over the dark sheets and pillowcases. From where she lingers in the doorway, they appear to be clean enough, although she imagines that on a ship this size, there are likely to be people who are responsible for the laundry.  
  
Dark bedside tables are positioned on either side of the bed, and windows line the wall behind it. Anna imagines that they boast an impressive view once the ship is out at sea, although she notices floor-length curtains, just in case she decides that she’s sick of the sight of the water.  
  
_You better get used to it,_ she thinks to herself.  
  
She supposes that she’s mostly still in shock.  
  
The room is much larger than the bedroom that she had at home, and her parents had owned a reasonably sized house in an affluent neighborhood, so she’s relatively impressed. There’s a large, oak desk that sits at the wall to her right, and Anna notices the neatly stacked piles of papers that sit on top of it. A leather chair – which looks to be incredibly comfortable – is tucked underneath the surface of it, and Anna swallows at the sight of one huge sword hanging on the wall behind the desk.  
  
She slowly makes her way into the room and notices other details; like the dark grey rug and the wooden furnishings and the tall lamp, and Anna sighs as she places her bag down onto the bed. There’s another door that she assumes leads to a bathroom, but she continues to focus her attention of the expanse of the room, drinking in all the details whilst she is currently unaccompanied.  
  
That neat stack of papers piled up on the desk catch her eye once again, and although Anna is highly tempted to investigate them, she resists the urge to snoop for now on the off chance that the Captain might come and catch her nose-deep in his paperwork.  
  
She thinks of him again, and of how bizarre it seemed that _he_ was the one who didn’t look particularly pleased to see her. His entire demeanor was _gruff_ , and he was short and sharp with her. His brown eyes had practically burned through her, and that eye-contact alone had Anna suddenly understanding exactly why this man was a Captain.  
  
She debates with herself for a while over what his thoughts are of her. There is a part of Anna that appreciates that Elsa may well have caused him as much trouble as Kai made out, and if that’s the case, then she supposes that it’s almost understandable that he’s not going to be overly pleased to meet her younger sister.  
  
On the other hand, she wonders why he summoned her all the way here if he simply plans to despise her.  
  
Anna is disturbed by her thoughts by a large sound coming from the deck above her, and it causes her to flinch before she begins to feel the floor moving beneath her. She just about manages to wrap her hands around one of the bedposts in order to steady her before the force of the sudden movements knocks her over, and she stares with wide eyes out of one of the windows as she watches the ship begin to propel forward.  
  
Anna has never been on a ship before – not even so much as a fishing boat – and as such, she has never been able to relate to the concept of sea-sickness; but she suddenly feels overcome with nausea as she watches the docks and the other ships rapidly fade further and further away.  
  
She just about manages to kick off her shoes and half-kick them underneath the bed before she practically throws herself down onto the mattress and curly in on herself on top of the bedsheets. The mattress is surprisingly comfortable beneath her weight – feather soft and not dissimilar to her own at home – and Anna lies still on her side as she feels the entire room rock with the motion of the waves that the ship travels against.  
  
She squeezes her light blue eyes tightly shut and nuzzles her head into the soft pillow in an attempt to calm her breathing and, in turn, settle her stomach, only to be greeted with a distinctly masculine smell.  
  
It’s hardly unpleasant, and in any other circumstances, Anna would have probably buried her head further into it and inhaled once again.  
  
This isn’t any other circumstances, though, and this isn’t _home._  
  
And for the first time in weeks – if not months – Anna sobs.  
  


.

.

.

  
  
  
Eventually, she drifts to sleep.  
  
It’s been an overwhelming twenty-four hours, and Anna doesn’t cry for all that long at all before she falls into a deep, dreamless slumber.  
  
She’s been uprooted from the only home that she has ever known and been forced here against her will. She’s frightened and worried and _alone_ in this unfamiliar environment, and her mind torments her as she wonders about pirates and shipments and how this all even works.  
  
Bar Mattias, nobody has been particularly kind to her. The men that she passed on the ship’s deck might not have been as hostile as the men that she encountered on the docks, but they certainly eyed her with wary suspicion, and the Captain had been anything but welcoming.  
  
Her _husband_.  
  
When Kai had first told her that she was to be his wife, Anna had thought that it was awful enough to have to marry a complete _stranger_ , a man whom she would have only just met; but now, the thought of that man being _him_ \- so infuriatingly hostile and cold and uncaring of her situation – had Anna thinking _(and kind of hoping)_ that Kai must have been mistaken.  
  
The way he had glared at her upon their introduction told her everything that she needed to know.  
  
There’s no way that this man wants to call her anything at all – never mind his wife.  
  
For a reason that Anna doesn’t quite understand, that realisation makes her feel even worse.  
  


.

.

.

  
He’s there when she wakes.  
  
She has no idea of how long she has slept for, though the sunlight that continues to stream into the room suggests that it hasn’t been _that_ long since she drifted off. Anna smacks her lips together several times and frowns at the vile taste in her mouth, and she groans as she shuffles against the sheets that she is lay on top of, and it just about registers in her mind that she has woken up in exactly the same position that she fell asleep in.  
  
After stretching out against the sheets, Anna pushes herself upright and raises the heels of her palms against her eyes so that she can rub the sleep away from them. There’s a dull ache that throbs at the back of her head – the kind that only comes when one has cried themselves to sleep – and she sighs when she drops her hands and slowly blinks into the open space of the room.  
  
Anna physically startles at the sight of him.  
  
She gasps loudly in surprise, and one hand instinctively flies to her chest from the fright. He’s sat in the leather chair by his desk, and there’s a tall pen in his right hand, though his attention is purely focused on her rather than the papers that sit before him.  
  
She hadn’t thought that she would see him so soon, and now that he looks a little more _relaxed_ \- his features not so cold – she thinks once more of how he’s rather handsome when he isn’t scowling.  
  
Silence passes between them both for a few beats, and Anna’s heart doesn’t seem to want to settle as it continues to race within her chest. He isn’t glaring at her, now – instead, he’s just, well, _staring_ , his eyes trailing over her as though he was examining every fine detail, and Anna finds herself squirming under the heat of his gaze.  
  
She’s never been too good at awkward silences.  
  
“I didn’t realise you were here,” she says, her voice a little shaky and thick with sleep as she states the obvious, but she doesn’t know what else to say to him.  
  
His lips quirk ever so slightly, but he rights them so quickly that Anna isn’t sure whether her imagination conjured up the movement in the first place.  
  
“I figured,” he says, his voice smooth and almost warm. She thinks that he might say something else, but he quickly returns his attention to the papers that sit on the desk before him, and Anna finds herself feeling effectively dismissed.  
  
 _No,_ she thinks. _You have questions, and you deserve to have them answered._  
  
She struggles to find the words to begin with, though; can’t decide whether she wants to approach this topic nicely or fiercely, isn’t sure whether or not she should try and ease into it or full-on nosedive, and she’s well and truly gnawing on her bottom lip by the time that he lets out a long, heavy sigh.  
  
“Are you hungry?” he asks, and he looks up from his paperwork briefly enough to catch Anna shake her head before he looks down once more.  
  
Truthfully, it feels like it’s been forever since she’s had anything at all to eat – Kai shared some snacks with her on the journey to the docks, but nothing was particularly filling or appetising – and although Mattias pointed out the kitchen _(and raved about the cooks)_ , Anna’s stomach still feels a little queasy from the rocking motion of the ship.  
  
She doesn’t mean to watch him as he reads, but she can’t help herself, and she doesn’t even realise that she’s doing it. There’s still a tension in the air between them, though it’s certainly not as palpable as it was on the deck, and Anna takes advantage of the slightly easier atmosphere by studying him.  
  
The Captain – _Kristoff_ , she reminds herself – shifts under her gaze, and he looks up from his paperwork to catch her in the process of eyeing up his rather large hands. She had wondered what he would expect from her if she is to be his wife, and truth be told, the sheer size of him is a little terrifying.  
  
“How do you feel?” he asks her, and the questions catches her off guard. Anna holds back a scoff – she wouldn’t even know where to begin, but she knows what he means, understands what he’s really asking her, and she shrugs her shoulders.  
  
The last thing that Anna wants to do is seem weak to this clearly hardened, strong man; she wants to be able to stand her ground firmly, wants him to respect her, and she supposes that the best way to do that is to give him a solid first impression of her. Elsa had always been much better at this, though; and Anna has never been a particularly good actress, so she tells the truth.  
  
“I - not great,” she admits with a frown. “I’ve - um. I’ve never actually been on a ship before. So. You know. _Sickness,_ ” she says with a nervous edge to her tone, and she somehow manages to reel herself in before she begins to ramble absent-mindedly.  
  
It’s a trait of hers that she doesn’t think the Captain will appreciate or value.  
  
The blonde nods at her once before he scribbles something quickly down onto the paper that he had been reading and then places his pen down gently on the wooden surface. Anna watches with curious eyes as he runs one of his large hands through his hair – brushing away some of the fair strands away from his eyes – before he pushes the chair backwards and pulls himself up to stand.  
  
He doesn’t so much as look in her direction as he strides over towards the door and pulls it open, and Anna blinks rapidly after him as he disappears out of it, leaving it to swing to a shut behind him.  
  
 _What on earth just happened?_  
  
She’s still frowning in confusion by the time that he returns a short few moments later, and she flushes upon the realisation that he is carrying a bottle of water and a small packet in his hands. Anna swallows as he moves closer towards her until he’s near enough standing just a few inches away, and he deposits the bottle and the packet down onto the bedside table.  
  
“Take two of those,” he says, gesturing to the packet _(which she now realises contains tablets of some kind)_. “They’ll help.”  
  
She speaks before she even realises what she’s saying. “How do I know I can trust you?” she asks with a frown, and this time, she _knows_ that she didn’t imagine the way that his lips quirked ever so slightly; catches the movement clear as day from this angle, and her cheeks burn crimson as she stumbles over her tongue. “I mean – I – well, how do I know you’re not trying to drug me? Or something.”  
  
The Captain frowns at that. “Why would I do that?” he asks, and he’s already making his way back towards his desk.  
  
Despite her question, Anna reaches out towards the packet, anyway. “Oh, I don’t know,” she asks with a roll of her eyes as she places two capsules into her palm.  
  
 _It’s now or never_ , she thinks, and the fact that he was decent enough to fetch her some tablets and some water tells her that he doesn’t completely hate her – _right?_  
  
“I guess that was a silly question – I mean, it’s not like you’ve kidnapped me or anything,” she sasses before she puts the capsules on her tongue and swallows them down with a mouthful of water. The clear liquid is refreshing, and she guzzles some more before she places the bottle back down on the bedside table.  
  
“Anna,” he begins with a sigh as he looks at her from his desk. It’s the first time that he’s said her name, and the realisation that she likes the sound of it catches her a little off-guard. Nobody has ever made her name sound so _pretty_ before, and he softens the vowels in a way that has her stomach clench. “Can this wait? I’m a little busy right now.”  
  
She hardens once more.  
  
“You’re a – _excuse me_?” she balks. “I have been dragged here against my will –” _(he cocks a brow at her, then)_ “- to be told that I’m supposed to be _married_ to some, some, some _Captain_ -” _(that seems to catch him off guard – looks like he didn’t know that she knew)_ “- in exchange for my sister’s punishment, or something, I don’t even know; and you’re telling me that you’re _busy_?”  
  
The word vomit surprises her almost as much as the unfamiliar hardness of her tone does, but Anna feels almost better for saying it. Whatever way she looks at it, this ‘marriage’ is going to be an absolute sham; so he may as well know that she’s not going to take any of his crap.  
  
Starting right now.  
  
A long silence stretches between them, and as Anna glares over at him, she thinks that he might have actually taken her seriously.  
  
Well – until he opens his mouth.  
  
“Are you quite finished?” he asks, and Anna almost screams in frustration.  
  
She cannot believe this man, and she wonders how on earth she is supposed to ever be with someone so harsh and cold and just plain _rude_. She couldn’t care less about marrying him, and it seemed that he felt much the same way about her, and as such she wanted to know why on earth she had been summoned to his stupid ship in the first place.  
  
She opens her mouth to speak once more when she is interrupted by a knock at the door, and Anna’s hardened expression softens instantly as she watches the tall blonde pull himself up to stand and walk round to the front of his desk. He doesn’t seem to be surprised by the interruption, though; and he turns his back to her as he faces the door, giving her a full view of his profile from behind.  
  
“Come in,” he says, and her shoulders relax when she spots Mattias.  
  
“Captain,” Mattias greets. “We’re ready whenever you are.”  
  
Kristoff nods his head, and he moves as if to follow Mattias before he stops suddenly and turns his head over his shoulder in order to look at her. His dark eyes burn into her own, and although her first instinct is to crumble under his heated gaze, she refuses. Anna uses the anger and frustration that she feels towards him in order to hold her nerve as she looks right back at him – her chin jutted out defiantly – and she almost smiles when he sighs.  
  
“Tonight,” he tells her, and although she understands, he elaborates anyway. “I’ll tell you what you need to know tonight.”  
  
He’s about to step forwards when she speaks up. “Everything,” she corrects, and she can tell that she’s caught him off guard. “You’ll tell me _everything_ tonight.”  
  
He says nothing to her as he leaves. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so I know that this chapter still doesn't address an awful lot of questions/finer details etc but I promise that all will be revealed soon enough!!!!
> 
> also I forgot to add, if you’re a huge Elsa fan then this may not be the fic for you as she overall makes some really poor decisions and just isn’t the best in this story so. yeah

  
  
Kristoff doesn’t return to the room for a while.  
  
Bored, Anna begins to think of things to do to entertain herself. She supposes that the most logical thing to do would be to explore her new home, but she doesn’t feel particularly comfortable about the idea of roaming around this ship by herself _(she’s also not quite sure that her wobbly legs would even allow her to do so, since she’s still getting used to the way that the floor moves beneath her)_ so she rules that one out immediately.  
  
The next thing that she can think to do is to unpack her duffle bag so that her things are at least somewhat organised, although she feels a little awkward doing that, too, since Kristoff hasn’t actually discussed anything with her. For all that she knows, he doesn’t actually want her to stay in his quarters; but she supposes that it’s something to do before she goes out of her mind from the boredom, and so she opens the drawers of both bedside tables to see where she can make some room.  
  
As luck would have it, one of the tables is completely empty whilst the other is only half-full, and a part of her entertains the notion that perhaps _he_ had emptied it in preparation for her arrival. She knows it’s a silly thing to think of, and she tells herself that it wouldn’t matter in the slightest whether he did or he didn’t –  
  
_– except that it kind of would, wouldn’t it?_  
  
She thinks of how her mother would laugh if she were to see her now; perched on this old fashioned bed, neatly folding her clothes into perfect piles, putting matching pyjama sets together and making sure that socks are the same before she folds them over. At home, Anna’s clothes were never particularly organised very well; instead, they were thrown haphazardly into her wardrobe or her drawers or underneath her ottoman, and she had always been able to find whatever she needed just fine.  
  
Elsa had been the opposite. The blonde was neat and tidy by nature, and her wardrobe was colour-coded and her clothes were neatly folded into drawers. She took great pride in keeping things that way – _a place for everything, and everything in its place_ – and by the looks of the sparse room, it would appear that Kristoff may very well be much the same.  
  
She thinks of her sister, then; wonders where in the world she is, whether she’s safe, whether she’s alone, and above all else, whether she’s happy. Anna doesn’t understand why she has been dragged here in place of Elsa, and she just hopes that wherever she is now, her sister has made sure that this sacrifice was worth it.  
  
It wasn’t as though Anna was living a life worth envying back home – she hadn’t had any human contact for months, had no phone or internet access, and most of her days were spent reading and writing and hoping that someone from the military would come by her door that day. Still, though, Elsa had no way of knowing that – for all that she knew, Anna could have been quite comfortable and happy whilst she just signed her over to this man and his ship.  
  
Alternatively, Anna could have been dead and her sister equally would have never known, since she never came home.  
  
The thought frustrates her, and Anna pauses for a moment to breathe when she realises that she has been folding her clothes a little more _aggressively_ than necessary. The menial job hasn’t been doing much to stop her mind from wandering so far, and so Anna tries her best to think of anything _but_ Elsa and the hows and whys of this situation.  
  
She sings to herself whilst she folds and finds that focusing on the lyrics and the melody in her mind works for a little while, but then Anna finds her mind betraying her once more; though this time, she thinks of the Captain.  
  
She cannot make up her mind as to how she feels about him, though she supposes that’s natural, since his presence has been forced upon her and he’s also been a little hot-and-cold towards her. He’s frustrating and rude and dismissive in a way that she cannot stand, but she can’t shake the feeling that there’s an underlying softness to him as demonstrated by the water and tablets and the promises of _tonight_.  
  
_It’s dangerous to think of him like this_ , she tells herself. The fact that he provided her with a bottle of water and some tablets upon hearing that she didn’t feel too good shouldn’t be something she thinks of as kind so much as a normal human response, and yet her heart had fluttered upon the gesture, and she hadn’t missed the way in which he hadn’t been quite able to meet her eyes afterwards.  
  
_You’re being ridiculous_ , she thinks, though the fact that he’s one of the most handsome men she has ever seen doesn’t do much to stop the clenching in her stomach at the thought of him. She doesn’t know at all what to expect from him later, though she tries not to worry about that right now – after all, it’s not going to change anything.  
  
Once her clothes are neatly placed in the drawers and her duffle bag has been folded neatly, too, Anna gathers up her small make-up bag and the other toiletries she brought and moves towards the only other door in the room. She had expected a rather small bathroom, and so she’s pleasantly surprised to find that it’s rather impressive in size.  
  
Much like the rest of the ship, it’s rather dark in colour, although the long, tall mirror that hangs over the sink brightens it up somewhat. There’s a glass shower cubicle as well as a large, stand-alone bathtub that sits in the centre of the floor, and Anna blushes despite herself as she forces the image of Kristoff bathing – _naked_ – away as quickly as it enters her mind.  
  
She had brought her toothbrush, but no toothpaste, and she’s relieved to see a tube sat on the sink counter, and she doesn’t hesitate to use some whilst she works away at her mouth. She’s fed up of her messy hair already, and so she brushes through it and pulls it up into a high ponytail, leaving her bangs to frame her face. Satisfied – and feeling a little more like herself, now – Anna looks around the bathroom once more before she steps back into the main room.  
  
There’s still no sign of Kristoff, and Anna decides that whilst she’s not confident enough to explore the rest of the ship yet, she’s certainly more than happy to explore the room. There are no particularly homely details, or anything that would provide her with a better insight into the Captain and his life; no family photographs, no trinkets or treasures – just basic furnishings.  
  
She bites down on her bottom lip as she strolls casually behind the long, oak desk, her dainty fingers running over the very top of the dark leather chair as she feigns innocence, though there’s nobody around to see the act. Anna is more than aware of the fact that Kristoff could come bursting through the door at any moment, that he probably wouldn’t take too kindly to her snooping through his things, meaning that it’s probably not worth the risk at all –  
  
_– oh, but it’s too tempting._  
  
She blinks at over at the door for a moment as she hovers by the desk, her arms outstretched towards it as she battles with herself over whether she should or shouldn’t.  
  
_Screw it._  
  
Anna leans over Kristoff’s desk and indulges herself. Her light eyes greedily inspect the neatly stacked paperwork, and they roam over every detail written down in his neat, but rather small, scrawl. Her fingers run over the paper as she decides to flick through the piles, and she finds that most of it is rather boring: inventory, vague letters that he’s received, information about the men that work for him and their wages, some detailed maps – and then her eyes narrow as she finds what she was looking for.  
  
A header with her sister’s name.  
  
Anna chances a glance up at the door once again as she considers the paper. It teases her from where it’s positioned almost at the bottom of one pile, although her internal struggle doesn’t last too long at all. After all, she’s already committed to her snooping, now – she may as well finish, and hopefully make it worth her while.  
  
Her fingers tremble slightly as she pulls the piece of paper away from its place in the pile, and she doesn’t – _can’t_ – breathe as her eyes hungrily roam over the words that fill the page.  
  
It’s a report, she realises; and her eyes widen as she begins to process the fact that this report essentially lists a number of crimes that Elsa has apparently committed upon Kristoff’s ship.  
  
_Stowaway. Excessive damages. Theft of valuable stock._  
  
_Attempted murder._  
  
Attempted _what_?  
  
Her hands tremble violently, now; and Anna feels impossibly more nauseous than she did earlier on. She re-reads the list over and over and over again, and her brows furrow as she tries to make sense of it, but she _can’t_. Her chapped bottom lip wobbles helplessly as she takes in a shuddery breath, and Anna shakes her head as her eyes fill with tears, a fresh wave of utter panic consuming her.  
  
There must have been a mistake. Her sister would _never_ –  
  
He clears his throat from where he lingers in front of the doorway, and Anna shrieks loudly in surprise as her entire body jolts from the sound. In her fright, Anna almost drops the paper onto the surface of the desk, though she manages to catch it before it can fully slip away from her nimble fingers.  
  
She had been so transfixed by the words on the document that she hadn’t heard the door to the room open or close, and despite herself, her eyes fill with tears at the sight of him. She knows that he has well and truly caught her out, and now he’ll be able to hold this as leverage over her; and a part of her wonders if this was a trap, if he planned it on purpose, knew that it would be too tempting for her to resist the urge to snoop through the important looking documents that had been laid out so perfectly on his fancy desk.  
  
Still – Anna thinks that he looks almost _sad_ as he regards her.  
  
Silence passes between them for an impossibly long couple of seconds, and Anna stumbles over an explanation as she looks at him with watery eyes.  
  
_She is_ not _going to cry._  
  
“I - I -” she attempts, but the words won’t come – neither will coherent thought, for that matter – and her mouth opens and closes repeatedly as she blinks over at him.  
  
Kristoff’s shoulders stiffen the tiniest amount, and he raises his large hand to his face so that he can pinch the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. For once, Anna isn’t mesmerised by the size of his hands: instead, she focuses on the way in which his broad chests rises and falls with exaggerated breaths.  
  
Eventually, he drops his hand by his side and looks at her once again, seeming to be willing to put her out of her misery.  
  
“I thought that you would have at least waited until after we’d spoken to go snooping round my things,” he says to her, and her jaw clenches defensively.  
  
“What did you want me to do, exactly?” she asks with a deep frown. _She knew that this was more trouble than it was worth, knew that she should have just stayed away!_ “Just sit here and wait for you to come back?”  
  
Kristoff rolls his eyes at her question, and Anna’s fist clenches tightly by her side. _Was he for real?_  
  
“Exactly,” he says simply, and the redhead huffs out a quick breath.  
  
“Are you – you can’t be – I'm not your, your _pet_ , you know!” she almost screeches, her fingers tightening around the paper that she’s still holding.  
  
He appears to be relatively calm, which only serves to frustrate her even more. Kristoff practically lounges on the spot as he cocks his hip a little to the side and crosses his arms over his chest whilst he regards her, and she refuses to give him the satisfaction of eyeing his broad forearms. Instead, she glares at him with narrowed eyes.  
  
“I never said that you were,” he responds flatly, and Anna wants to _scream_. The tears that fill her eyes now aren’t from shock, or sadness, they’re from fury, and she struggles to calm her breathing as she continues to glare at him.  
  
“What would you have me do?” she scoffs as she waves her arms in mid-air for emphasis, the paper wafting around with the movement and momentarily distracting her. “Just - just sit here and wait for you to come back, like a _good girl_?”  
  
Her voice is rising dramatically, but she can’t control it. She’s half-aware of the fact that she’s snapped, but Kristoff doesn’t seem phased whatsoever by her words, and that frustrates her even more. “You don’t know anything about me, and I - I've been dragged from my _home_ without any explanation as to where I am, or why I’m even here.”  
  
Anna drops the paper to the desk as her entire body trembles. “I haven’t heard from my sister in months – she was supposed to be back from her shift forever ago, and instead the first I hear of her is _this_ ,” she gestures to the sheet on his desk for emphasis. “And – and now I don’t even know if, if she’s alive, if she’s alright.”  
  
Her voice cracks on the final word, and Anna’s shoulders sag in defeat as Kristoff continues to regard her with a blank expression. She doesn’t know this man – all that she knows of him so far is how much he infuriates her – and yet that awful, empty look on his face _hurts_.  
  
She hasn’t had any human contact for months – the least that he could do is empathise.  
  
“And I don’t know why you seem to – to _hate_ me so much,” she pants, though she doesn’t miss the way in which he frowns at that. _Maybe he is human, after all._ “But I didn’t _choose_ to be here, either!”  
  
Once the last word leaves her mouth, and Anna’s entire body sags as she realises how utterly _exhausted_ she is. Despite the fact that she’s had some rest earlier on, she hasn’t eaten much since before Kai picked her up, and her entire body feels drained of energy. The way that the ship rocks beneath her feet combined with the embarrassment that she feels from being caught red-handed does little to calm her, and Anna leans her weight onto the chair.  
  
She closes her eyes and then he’s _there_ , his large palm cupping her elbow as he steadies her. “Are you okay?” he asks her, and there’s something akin to genuine concern in his voice, but Anna attempts to shrug him off regardless.  
  
“Alright then, feisty pants,” he says as he drops his hand, but the sudden loss of contact has Anna almost toppling over, and he rights her once more. “Come on – let's get you to bed,” he says, and although she wants to pull away from his touch out of spite, she doesn’t quite trust her wobbly legs, and so she allows him to lead her to the bed.  
  
She sits down so that her legs dangle over the edge of the bed – feet not quite touching the floor due to its height – and she feels much better now that the rocking motion underneath her feet has ceased. It’s much easier to forget that they’re at sea when she’s sat down.  
  
Anna swallows thickly as Kristoff crouches beside her so that she has to look down in order to meet his eyes, and she’s surprised to find them to be soft.  
  
“Better?” he asks, and she nods her head slightly. She’s completely depleted of energy after her rant, and now she doesn’t feel like speaking to him at all.  
  
Kristoff regards her for another moment before he sighs, the sound heavy and dramatic. “Listen, Anna,” he says, and once again she finds pleasure in the sound of her name falling from his tongue. “I don’t _hate_ you. Things are just... complicated.”  
  
Anna had been looking at her feet as he spoke, but his vague summary leaves a bad taste in her mouth, and she frowns at him. “I don’t understand,” she says, voice softer than she intended it to be, though she thinks that he might be able to appreciate her plea.  
  
He moves to sit beside her – leaving plenty of distance between their bodies – and Anna bites down on her lip as he speaks once more. “It’s a long story,” he informs her. “And mostly boring.”  
  
"Well,” she says, trying not to sound _too_ desperate, despite the fact that she very much is. “I have lots of questions.”  
  
For the first time, she sees a genuine hint of a smile ghost his lips as he regards her. “I’m sure you do,” he says, and although his tone is light, she’s sure that he does mean it. His expression returns to one of neutrality once again as his shoulders sag a little. “Why don’t you – you can ask, if you like,” he says, and Anna quirks a brow at him in response. “What?” he balks. “I did say that I’d tell you everything.”  
  
She’s somewhat surprised that he remembered, never mind that he’s actually going to stick to his word after he caught her snooping through his things, but Anna tries her best not to show it. “Really? I – okay. Okay, that would be... great,” she cringes at herself, but quickly snaps out of it. “Alright, then,” she begins. “How do you know my sister?”  
  
“She was a stowaway on my ship.”  
  
“Why?” Anna presses immediately, though she supposes that it’s unlikely he knows the answer.  
  
“She heard that we were shipping a cure for the virus,” he says nonchalantly. “And she wanted it.”  
  
Anna’s brows furrow at that. “I - why would Elsa want it? Is she infected? Did she seem unwell?”  
  
Kristoff shrugs at her quick-fire questions, unphased by the way she’s spinning this. “I don’t know,” he comments, and his casual approach remains. “I don’t think so.”  
  
It didn’t sound at all like Elsa, though – not just to cause as much trouble as she apparently did, but _attempted murder_? It was _insane_. “How much –” she pauses, then, thinks over what she wants to say and tries once more. “Kai said that Elsa caused... damage,” she says, and Kristoff nods. “What did – what did she _do_?”  
  
“Well, when she was found, she lashed out. She mostly smashed things –”  
  
“The cure?” Anna asked, and Kristoff frowned at her.  
  
“The _vaccine_ ,” he corrected. “There’s no cure, Anna. Not yet.”  
  
Her eyes widen at the information, although it doesn’t mean all that much to her, really. She’s admittedly a little surprised that he actually told her as much – she had expected him to either dismiss her or shrug her off, not entertain her with the truth.  
  
She realises then that this is the most she has ever heard him speak.  
  
Anna’s next question comes out in stuttered breaths, and she dances over her tongue as she struggles to get the words out. “Who did she...” the redhead trails off, frustrated by her inability to form the sentence. “It said on the paper that she – and I –”  
  
“Me,” Kristoff answers simply, understanding what she’s getting at.  
  
“You?” Anna repeats, her eyes widening impossibly further. “Elsa... Elsa tried to kill _you_?”  
  
Kristoff nods his head solemnly, and she wonders whether he can see how much all of this is hurting her. “She wasn’t pleased that she got caught,” he explains, “and she certainly wasn’t pleased about the idea of me sentencing her to work on the ship for the remainder of her life.”  
  
The next question comes much more easily, since it’s the one that she’s been thinking of since Kai first came to her. “What has any of this got to do with me?”  
  
He sighs again, and she meets his dark eyes as he appears to struggle for an answer. From this angle – this proximity – she's able to appreciate the honey glow of them, and her stomach clenches once again as he continues to look at her.  
  
“You sister was worried about you,” he explains, and Anna bites her tongue. “She pleaded with me to have you take her place, though I made it quite clear to her that I wouldn’t have someone punished on her behalf.” His words cause Anna to cock a brow, but she remains silent so that he can continue. “I had to do _something_ \- had to make a point to my men, had to set an example. That’s when your sister recommended...”  
  
He trails off, but Anna still hears the words in her head, knows what he was about to say. “Elsa -” she breathes, her voice shaky. “This was – this was all _Elsa’s_ idea?”  
  
_It doesn’t make any sense – why would her sister – but then why would her sister do any of this in the first place?_  
  
“Elsa suggested that I take you for my wife,” he says simply.  
  
“Why?” Anna bites.  
  
“Most Captain’s have one,” he tells her. “And she told me of how lonely you were at home, how worried she was that you weren’t going to be able to make it on your own much longer. Then, there was the matter of tending to her punishment so that the crew didn’t get any ideas, or inspiration from her antics. It all just sort of... made sense.” He pauses for a moment before he continues. “Your sister was nothing but a pain in my ass, and I was glad to see her go.”  
  
Anna’s mind swirls as she processes the information that he tells her. After a few seconds of prolonged silence, Anna huffs out a laugh. “So you –” she begins, shaking her head. “I was the easy option, then?” she asks, though she doesn’t need him to confirm what she already knows to be true. “You’d rather have some – some stupid _kid_ who you think can’t look after herself –”  
  
Kristoff’s expression hardens instantly.  
  
“That’s not what I said,” he tells her, but she dismisses him quickly.  
  
“You didn’t need to,” she near enough hisses, although her anger doesn’t lie with him so much as it does with her sister. If Elsa had been that worried about her wellbeing, then perhaps she could have come home rather than trying to hide away on a ship.  
  
_If Elsa cared about her at all, then perhaps she wouldn’t have gone away in the first place._  
  
“Anna,” he huffs, though she can hear the frustration rising in his voice, too. “You wanted to know –”  
  
“I know,” she says with a huff. “I just – I can’t - _ugh_. Leave me alone. Please,” she interrupts, decidedly unable to process any more information right now. This whole situation is bizarre and confusing and utterly _ridiculous_ , and Anna doesn’t want to hear another word about it; would much rather sit quietly and think over what he’s already told her before she digs for more information.  
  
She’s sure that there are plenty more details for Kristoff to delve into, but she’s not going to ask him for more right now – knows that she wouldn’t even know where to start with it all. The redhead feels tired once again, although she knows she won’t be able to sleep this time.  
  
Despite him only doing what she has asked, when Kristoff silently pushes himself up to stand and exits the room, Anna feels a little disappointed.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I also forgot to add that this fic is a slow burn and I mean I know it’s an AU and it’s fiction but I’m trying to make it realistic in that Anna thinks Kristoff is hot because, u know, she has eyes BUT he’s essentially kidnapped her and struck up a deal with Elsa to have her here so. She’s not just going to want to jump his bones straight away
> 
> The next few chapters will see her struggling with her feelings towards him as a result of that, and also as she learns more about what went down with Elsa and what the agreement really means
> 
> As I said earlier, Elsa is NOT a necessarily good in this fic, I think this chapter kind of alludes to the poor decisions she’s made but she’s ultimately just kind of selfish so if u love her then this really isn’t the story for u!!!
> 
> Ok I think that’s everything :) hehe


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK so these next few chapter's are mostly going to focus on Anna as she gets a feel for Kristoff and who he is as a person as well as who he is as a Captain, and what that really means not only to her but to the rest of the crew
> 
> She obviously has an initial attraction to him and she hasn't been around people in _forever_ so we'll be seeing some more of her kind of struggling with the fact that she's frustrated at her situation (therefore frustrated at him) but also still longs for human contact (with him) 
> 
> so yeah. Enjoy!!! I hope. Hehe

  
  
She asked him to leave her alone, and he did.  
  
_So why does she feel so disappointed?_

.

.

.

  
The Captain doesn’t return for hours.  
  
By the time that the door to the room opens and closes, it’s dark outside; the moon hanging low in the clear nights sky, and Anna is fascinated, since she’s never seen so many stars shining so brilliantly before. Of course, there were stars at home – but nothing like _this_ ; never so many, and never so bright.  
  
It’s like something from a movie, but it’s real and in front of her and she’s seeing it with her own eyes, and Anna can’t help but feel a little bashful about the fact that she genuinely did not know that this was what the nights sky was supposed to look like. She had always thought that she’d seen it clearly, before; but now -  
  
The sight of such beauty has thrown her, a little. Anna doesn’t know quite how she feels about anything anymore, and nature has a funny way of making her feel incredibly small. These last forty-eight hours have been physically and mentally and emotionally draining, and the redhead has never been so up and down with her emotions before. Although she’s never been like Elsa – who had always excelled in concealing, well, _everything_ that she felt – she's never been as erratic as this, either.  
  
Her heart feels tight in her chest as her eyes wander over the vast array of stars that litter the dark sky, and tears well in her eyes as she wonders once more.  
  
She thinks of her sister, and how none of this made any sense at all, but how it’s starting to, now; the pieces of a puzzle slowly but surely coming together as she is offered the pieces one by one, and Anna thinks that she might be starting to understand.  
  
She always knew that Elsa thought very little of her – considered her to be immature and silly, ridiculous and over-dramatic, too quirky and overall, just so... so _young_. Naïve. Childlike and wide-eyes and _for goodness sakes, Anna, you just don’t understand how the real world works; you need to grow up._  
  
Elsa never saw, or considered, the other things; like how Anna had been the one to step up when they lost their parents, how she had to plan their funeral and arrange their assets and almost give up on school because she had been terrified about what the future held.  
  
All whilst Elsa stayed hidden in her room.  
  
Now that she knows more and has had time to process the information, Anna is starting to feel as though she can understand Elsa’s thought process in all of this; and although she doesn’t want to believe Kristoff – doesn't want to imagine that this whole situation is a result of her own sister’s suggestion – the more that she thinks about it, the more that it almost seems true.  
  
Is it possible that Elsa thought her to be weak, and vulnerable, and needy enough that this was the only option to guarantee her safety?  
  
Could it really be that her sister thought that there was no way that she could survive, never mind thrive, alone?  
  
Is there a chance that Elsa believed that _this_ was a good opportunity for Anna – a win-win for them both: she could escape and return to freedom, and Anna could stay here indefinitely, tied to a strong and powerful man who seemed to have the means by which to take care of her?  
  
The tears fall freely, now, though Anna wipes away at them in frustration at herself. She hasn’t cried in so long, and now look what she has been reduced to.  
  
The Captain has no reason to lie to her. He has made it clear _(ish)_ that he has no interest in physically claiming her as his wife – he hasn’t said as much, _yet_ , but she thinks that it’s rather obvious how repulsive he finds her from his scowling face and rolling eyes and irritated tone and, overall, his general disinterest towards her.  
  
But then he _did_ bring her some water and medicine, and he also steadied her earlier and moved her to sit when she felt dizzy, so perhaps he does expect something from her after all. The thought makes her stomach drop, and she realises that there is still plenty of time for him to make advances on her, since this will be her first night on his ship.  
  
He approaches slowly to where she is kneeling in the centre of the four-poster bed, her auburn hair cascading in loose waves down her shoulders and back as she continues to blink up at the stars out of the window behind the bed, willing them to give her the guidance and answers that she so desperately needs.  
  
She’s hyper-aware of his presence, and she swallows thickly at the sound of his heavy boots padding across the floor as he continues towards her. Anna bites down on her bottom lip as she thinks about what he wants from her, what he _expects_ from her tonight –  
  
– judging by the sheer size of him, Anna has a feeling that he’d be more than able to take it from her whether she gave it willingly or not, though she isn’t sure whether he’s that kind of man.  
  
If someone would have presented this ridiculous situation to her a few days ago – had someone said to her _in an alternative universe, if Elsa was super worried about your wellbeing – to the point where she had to force your hand to a complete and utter stranger so that she knew you were safe and taken care of – then what kind of man would she choose for you?_ , then Anna would have certainly said that her sister would never offer her to a man who wasn’t kind or decent or _good_.  
  
Now, she isn’t so sure.  
  
Kristoff comes to stand beside her, though the bed is large enough that he’s a good couple of feet away, and he tilts his chin up slightly so that he can look out at the night’s sky through the window, too. She waits cautiously for him to move, but he doesn’t; instead, he crosses his arms and stays completely still.  
  
Silence passes between them for a while as his dark eyes dance over the stars, too, and Anna wonders whether he’s so used to the beauty of it all now that he doesn’t appreciate it the same way that she does.  
  
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he asks, almost as if he’s read her mind, and despite herself, she smiles.  
  
“Yes,” she agrees, her voice a little airy as she continues to blink up at the sky, and she wonders briefly about constellations and how she could go about learning them.  
  
She speaks again, though she isn’t sure why. “I’ve never seen so many stars before. Back home, I thought that the sky was – it sounds silly, I think, but I thought it was _normal_ , you know? Like, I never thought that there was anything wrong with how it looked. But now...” she trails off as her cheeks flush a light pink, and she curses herself for elaborating at all.  
  
It isn’t like he cares what she thinks about the stars, but it’s been so long since Anna has had anyone at all to talk to, and her tongue and mouth betray her as her mind struggles to keep up.  
  
“Now, I get it – the way that the sky’s supposed to look.”  
  
Kristoff doesn’t say anything to that, though she can see him nod in understanding out of her peripheral.  
  
The flush of her cheeks simmers down after a minute or two of silence passes between them again, and she thinks of their sleeping arrangements and how they’re going to do this. Her mind trails once more to what he will want from her, as his wife, and she knows that it’s something that they need to talk about before the suspension of it all kills her.  
  
“Kristoff,” she begins, and then frowns, distracted. “I - is that what you want me to call you?” she asks as she finally turns to look up at him.  
  
The blonde looks almost _amused_ as he tilts his chin slightly so that he can look her in the eyes, and _goodness_ , he really is _tall_ , isn’t he?  
  
“What else would you call me?” he asks her, and Anna shrugs.  
  
“I don’t know,” she stammers. “I - _Captain_ , maybe?”  
  
He honest-to-god _chuckles_ at that, and Anna’s eyes widen at the sound. It’s strange to hear, but the sound isn’t necessarily unpleasant, and her shoulders relax slightly as she looks up at him. Her own lips twitch a little, though she desperately fights the urge to smile.  
  
“No,” he says with a small shake of his head. “Kristoff is fine.”  
  
Anna swallows and nods. “Alright, then, _Kristoff_ ,” she starts again, inhales in order to compose herself. “I know – I know we’re supposed to be. You know. _Married_. And I just - I don’t know what you – what you want from me, or, I guess, expect, but I –”  
  
He sighs – the sound heavy and a little dramatic – as he waves one of his large hands over towards the opposite end of the bed. “May I?” he asks, and Anna frowns in confusion, her lips pursed as she blinks up at him. “Sit down?” he elaborates with narrowed eyes, and Anna’s own widen.  
  
“Oh!” she says, surprised that he’s even asked her permission – _why would he ask her permission to sit down on his own bed?_ – and then nods her head. “I - yeah. That’s... that’s fine.”  
  
He crouches slowly so that he’s sat with his legs hanging over the side of the bed; although unlike Anna’s earlier on, his feet actually touch the floor.  
  
“Listen, Anna, I – I made a deal with your sister, and I intend to stick to it. I needed a partner – I don’t need you to _do_ anything, but by having a wife, it makes certain things easier for me.”  
  
Anna frowns at that, not sure whether she’s missing something. “Certain things like what?”  
  
The moonlight streaming into the room from the long, tall windows lights up his face in a way that’s rather beautiful, too; but she watches as he rolls his eyes at her, and Anna has to bite down on her tongue at the action.  
  
“You wouldn’t understand,” he starts.  
  
“ _Try me_ ,” she interrupts, and he huffs out a breath.  
  
“I - alright. Trade deals, contracts, that kind of thing; and people who need my services, well – some of them prefer someone less...”  
  
He trails off as he searches for the right word, and Anna cocks a brow. “Intimidating?” she suggests, and he narrows his eyes a little before he nods.  
  
“Right,” he says, “something like that. I already told you that most other Captains have wives – more or less for the same reason.”  
  
Anna feels bolder in the moonlight. “Were their wives forced upon them, too?” she asks, though she’s only half-serious, and she watches as Kristoff’s entire body tenses at her question. His jaw clenches so that the strong line of it turns hard and sharp, and his hands curl into fists in his lap.  
  
“You would have to ask them,” he says through gritted teeth, and Anna can tell from his tone that she’s prodded him too far. He turns his face so that he’s looking directly at her, and though she feels the urge to avoid his eyes, she can’t bring herself to turn away from him.  
  
“I don’t expect anything – anything _physical_ from you, if that’s what you’re asking me. I’m - I’m not a _monster_ , Anna, _fucking hell_.”  
  
Anna frowns. “I don’t know anything about you,” she says, and he nods at that.  
  
There’s still an edge to his tone as he speaks. “I’m sure you want to be here just as much as I want you here – which is not at all. But I had little choice in the matter, and you can thank your sister for that, if you ever see her again.”  
  
Anna’s brows knot together as she stares over at him. “You told me earlier that you didn’t want to punish someone else for Elsa’s crimes,” she says.  
  
“And I also told you that your sister was a pain in my ass, and that I needed to make an example of her. The last thing I need is for my men to go and get any ideas about their Captain being soft, or unable to lead a ship.”  
  
He runs a hand through his too-long hair – brushes it out of his eyes – as his mouth opens and closes.  
  
“Whether you like it or not, you are my wife, and you will behave as such. I'm not asking you to – to do anything _like that_ , but your sister caused a lot of damage and upset a hell of a lot of my men, and they know you’re here in her place; so you _will_ play the part.”  
  
Anna swallows thickly, completely and utterly thrown by his words as he continues.  
  
“I’ll teach you what to say and when to say it, and I’ll teach you about the ship, and how to defend yourself, too. They’re all skills that you’ll need before you can attend meetings and trade deals with me. In return, you’ll have safety on my ship. There’s no virus, here – nobody is infected; we have food, and running water, and when we port, if you prove yourself to be trustworthy, then you’ll have more freedoms.”  
  
She doesn’t know what to say, and so she just stares at him with wide eyes and parted lips as her heart pounds in her chest.  
  
His expression softens just a touch as he regards her, and Kristoff sighs heavily before he speaks again. “Your sister was concerned for your safety, and she knew that you would at least be well taken care of here,” he says, though his words cause Anna to frown deeply. His eyes flash with something unfamiliar at the sight of her knitted browns. “Don’t make me regret agreeing to all of this. It’s already a big enough inconvenience as it is – the last thing I need is you misbehaving.”  
  
Anna scoffs at his words. “I’m not a _child_ , you know,” she grumbles. “I’m not going to misbehave.”  
  
“I’m sure that you won’t,” he says to her, his tone final. “Now, I suggest that you get some rest. I intend to make good on my word so long as you agree to do the same, and we’ll start your training in the morning.”  
  
Anna sighs softly, and although there’s a part of her that desperately wants to fight him, she knows deep down that it’s pointless. She doesn’t want to think about what he’ll do to her if she refuses to play along, and she recalls how Kai told her that Kristoff’s initial punishment for Elsa had been to spend her life working on his ship, so she supposes that it could be worse.  
  
 _It could be better, though,_ she thinks. _Your sister could have left you out of her mess altogether._  
  
“Aren’t you going to sleep, too?” she asks as he moves to stand, and Kristoff shakes his head as her as he approaches the windows and starts to draw the curtains.  
  
“No,” he says. “I still have paperwork to complete.”  
  
It doesn’t bother her either way, and a small part of her is grateful that there’s a chance she’ll be asleep by the time that he slips into bed beside her, so it should save her the awkwardness of _that_.  
  
Anna slips beneath the bedsheets and rests her head against the soft pillow whilst Kristoff sits himself down at his desk, and she closes her eyes and wills sleep to take over her. She tries everything that she can think of – counts sheep, then counts to one hundred, then backwards; then she thinks of all the words to songs she knows, and some she can’t remember entirely, but nothing seems to be helping.  
  
It’s hard to drift off when she’s very aware of his presence and the sound of his pen scratching across paper.  
  
She wonders a little more about the situation that she’s in, and though she knows that it’s pointless to goad him some more, she can’t resist the urge to ask – besides, it’s still a small hope that she can cling to.  
  
“Kristoff,” she murmurs into the darkness, and she listens as he continues to write.  
  
“Shouldn’t you be asleep?” he responds, but she ignores him.  
  
“Is this – is this even _legal_?” she asks, and the sound of his pen coming to a halt causes her lips to quirk upwards in triumph.  
  
“Anna,” he says, dragging out the syllables of her name over his tongue in a way that causes her to almost squirm against the bedsheets. “When we’re at sea, I _am_ the law.”  
  
Her triumphant smile falls. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg I'm SORRY for the cliche 'I AM THE LAW' but I couldn't resist okay?!?!?


	6. Chapter 6

  
  
He looks much more handsome when he isn’t scowling.  
  
Younger, too.  
  
Anna didn’t think to ask him how old he was – it hadn’t been on her list of priorities, really, and it’s not as though he looks particularly old, but she’d happily bet money on him being older than her eighteen years. If she was to roughly guess, then she’d place him at around twenty-two; although now that his face is relaxed as he snores lightly, she supposes that he could possibly pass for being a little bit younger than that.  
  
His features aren’t exactly _boyish_ , so she’s pretty confident with her guess. His wide shoulders and thick forearms and _huge_ hands combined with the outline of his sharp, stubbled jaw all scream _man_.  
  
Kristoff is _enormous_ compared to her, and yet he isn’t awkward in his own skin, doesn’t stumble over his feet like the boys her age used to do in school – the ones who were still growing into their height and their build as they transitioned from boy to man.  
  
But in order to settle her curiosity, she decides that she’ll ask him his age once he wakes.  
  
She must have been fast asleep by the time that he joined her in bed, and he’s kept a reasonable distance between them during the night – has placed one of his pillows in the middle of the mattress on top of the covers and everything. It surprises her somewhat, and her mouth betrays her as it curves upwards into a small smile at the thought of him considering her comfort and respecting her boundaries, but she swallows that down and thinks of their conversation last night.  
  
_I’m not a monster, Anna._  
  
What is he, then?  
  
She has so many questions.  
  
Did Elsa manipulate him, play upon his ego and make him think that Anna was some kind of pitiful damsel in distress that needed rescuing from her dull little life? Did she plant a seed that he could just swoop in like some – some _hero_ , save the day and get the girl whilst also getting rid of – in his own words – _a pain in his ass_?  
  
The thought of him rescuing her from anything has Anna almost rolling her eyes. Up until now, her life hadn’t exactly been full of adventure and thrill and excitement, but it had been _hers_.  
  
And this shouldn’t have been Elsa’s decision to make.  
  
It’s been done, though, and there’s nothing that she can do about it now, no way that she can back out or change her mind – after all, she didn’t have much of a choice in the first place. Anna knows this, but she can’t stop thinking about it all – the how’s and the why’s and the what ifs, and she has so many more questions for the Captain; wants to know what he made of her sister, if she disclosed any information at all to him about her plans as well as how she seemed in herself and whether she was accompanied.  
  
She blinks over at him and bites down on her bottom lip as she studies his face. The covers are pulled up to his shoulder and his face is half-buried in the pillow, but she has a reasonably good view of him since she’s so close.  
  
He’s rather handsome, she supposes; with his plump, parted lips and his strong jaw, with his golden skin and the freckles that dust his cheeks, just underneath his eyes and across the bridge of his nose. His freckles aren’t like her own – there's nowhere near as many of them, for a start, but they’re _there_ , she’s close enough that she could count them, if she wanted to.  
  
Anna briefly thinks of how there are much worse looking men that she could have been forced to marry, and she mentally scolds herself almost immediately as her cheeks flush a bright shade of pink. _What a ridiculous way to think_ , she tells herself in a voice that sounds a little _too_ much like Elsa.  
  
It doesn’t matter how good he looks – he's made it quite clear that he’s got absolutely no interest in her whatsoever.  
  
_I’m sure you want to be here just as much as I want you here – which is not at all._  
  
“It’s rude to stare, you know.”  
  
Anna almost shrieks in surprise at the sound of his voice, and the sadness that had crept into her expression as she lost herself in thought quickly evaporates into embarrassment as her eyes widen and her cheeks burn a deep shade of crimson.  
  
Kristoff smirks – clearly quite pleased with himself – as he sleepily blinks one eye open at her, and Anna can only glare at him as she raises one of her hands to her chest, settling it over her thundering heart.  
  
“I - I wasn’t _staring_!” she exclaims. “I was just – just lost in thought. That’s all.”  
  
Her voice is a little shaky as a result of the surprise, and by the look on his face, Kristoff doesn’t believe her whatsoever.  
  
“Alright,” he says dismissively with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders beneath the sheets, “if you say so.”  
  
The blonde rolls onto his back beside her so that he’s no longer facing her – effectively putting even more distance between their bodies – as he raises both of his fists in order to rub rapidly at the back of his eyelids.  
  
Anna is decidedly annoyed at him. She’s flushed and embarrassed and can’t help but cringe at herself over the fact that he caught her staring at him, and just to torture herself even more, she wonders how long he had been awake for to know that she was looking at him.  
  
Kristoff drops his hands by his sides on top of the covers, and he turns his face to the side so that he can look at her pouting expression. He looks as though he wants to say something to her, and his eyes narrow ever so slightly before he speaks.  
  
“Are you hungry?”  
  
Well, now that he’s brought it up – _yes_. Right on cue, her stomach growls loudly.  
  
Anna can’t remember the last time that she ate anything half-decent – she'd had snacks on the long drive over with Kai, but that was it, really, since she refused any food yesterday, didn’t have the stomach for it whilst she adjusted to the swaying and the rocking of the ship against the waves.  
  
So, she supposes that she can forgive him for embarrassing her after all; even if he _does_ look infuriatingly smug at the sound of her stomach rumbling.

.

.

.

  
Kristoff introduces her to the head chef, Frederik, who proudly presents her with buttered toast, scrambled eggs and chopped tomatoes when she requests something light to eat on account of her sea sickness, and Anna accepts the meal gratefully. Kristoff eats, too, though his plate his much larger – and much fuller – than her own.  
  
The men in the dining area stare over at the two of them as they sit down across from one another at a table, and Anna tucks some of her hair behind her ears self-consciously.  
  
The Captain notices her movement, eyes her suspiciously for a moment as she shuffles a little awkwardly in her seat underneath the stare of so many strangers, and then he raises his head towards the table closest to them and glares at the men who are gathered there. His whole face turns hard – his jaw clenched tightly, his fair brows furrowed and his dark eyes narrowed – and the men who had previously been gawking at her immediately look away, suddenly _enthralled_ by their half-empty plates.  
  
Anna lifts her fork and begins to pick nervously at her scrambled egg. She isn’t used to being on the receiving end of attention, and she’s _very_ aware of the fact that these men know she’s here because of her sister.  
  
“Ignore them,” Kristoff says with a huff, though she thinks that he’s not so much cross with her as he is with his men. “Most of them haven’t seen a pretty woman in years.”  
  
Her stomach flips at the compliment – _pretty, he said you’re - he thinks you’re - pretty_ – but the Captain doesn’t seem to realise what he’s said to her or what it might mean, and he instead begins to eat his food without paying her much mind.  
  
Anna blinks at him a couple of times before she snaps out of it and eats her own breakfast, though she hasn’t been accustomed to such generous portion sizes in her time living alone, and so her stomach fills rather quickly. When Kristoff has finished his own meal, he cocks a brow at her half-full plate.  
  
“I can’t eat anymore,” she explains.  
  
“You’ve barely eaten anything at all.”  
  
Anna almost rolls her eyes at him, though she has a feeling he wouldn’t appreciate the gesture coming from her.  
  
“Yeah, well, I suppose I’ve been used to living off rations for months, now, so. You know. It’s kind of a lot.”  
  
Kristoff still doesn’t look convinced, and after a beat or two of silent stares across the table, Anna’s shoulders sag.  
  
“And I still feel a little nauseous,” she adds.  
  
The Captain seems to soften at that – not much, but enough that she thinks that he’ll accept it – and Anna smiles a little as he moves to stand.  
  
“Come on,” he says, “it’s time for your tour.” 

.

.

.

  
Kristoff takes her up to the deck and points out things as they walk past them, though Anna voices her concern that there’s absolutely no way she’ll be able to remember all of this information.  
  
“Good job we’ve got a few weeks until our first stop, then,” he says, “gives you plenty of time to get used to it.”  
  
She thinks that he seems to be in a better mood today. He’s not exactly smiling wide and proud, not making a song and dance about it, but his body seems less tense and he’s saying more and more to her. His lips keep quirking upwards throughout their conversations, and he seems to be making an effort to explain to her what things are and why they’re there, and so far, he hasn’t snapped out a response at any of her questions.  
  
Still, she wonders whether it’s genuine, or whether it’s for the benefit of the men who pass them by.  
  
Once they reach the deck, Anna inhales a deep breath of fresh, salty air, allows it to fill her lungs until it hurts and then she exhales. It’ll take some time to get used to, she thinks, and so will the wind; and she laughs in surprise as a rather large gust sends her auburn waves whipping around her face.  
  
A ghost of a smile dances over Kristoff’s lips, but then Mattias is there, and he’s back to The Captain again.  
  
Anna isn’t close enough to hear what’s said between the two men, but she doesn’t miss the way in which Kristoff’s brows furrow slightly before he nods sharply. He lifts his eyes over to her then, and she thinks that he looks almost apologetic as his mouth presses into a thin line.  
  
Mattias says something else, and Kristoff nods once before his first mate disappears beneath the deck.  
  
She cocks her head to one side as he takes three large strides towards her, closing the distance between them somewhat; and Anna wants to ask him whether everything’s alright, but she isn’t sure whether she’s allowed to. Her mouth opens to speak, but words don’t come, and Kristoff beats her to it, anyway.  
  
“I have to go,” he says. “Kai will take over your tour.”  
  
His tone is flat and void of any emotion, and Anna blinks in surprise at how different he sounds now compared to the way that he was almost smiling with her just a minute or two before. She pushes down the feeling that she’s disappointed by this development and uses it as yet another opportunity to remind herself of the fact that Kristoff doesn’t like her, not even a little bit.  
  
“O-okay,” she nods as she brushes some of her hair back from her face.  
  
Kai approaches just seconds later, and Anna assumes that Mattias has sent him over. Despite herself, she smiles at the sight of him – she hasn’t seen him since they arrived on board, and she supposes that it’s nice to see a familiar face.  
  
“Captain,” Kai salutes, and Kristoff nods once. “How can I be of service?”  
  
“I need you to finish off giving Anna a tour of the ship,” Kristoff instructs. “I had started, but I'm needed elsewhere.”  
  
The smaller man nods in understanding and then Kristoff moves to leave without so much as a _see you later_ ; though just as he’s about to walk past Kai, the Captain turns his head over his shoulder and locks his dark eyes with her own.  
  
“Keep a close eye on her,” he says to Kai, and Anna swallows thickly underneath his heated gaze. There’s a ghost of a smirk on his lips, yet his words are deadly serious, and she can hear the underlying threat beneath them. “I don’t want her getting up to trouble.”  
  
With that, he’s gone. 

.

.

.

  
“Thank you for this,” Anna sighs. “It’s - it’s so beautiful. I’ve never seen anything like it.”  
  
From where he’s sat beside her – almost shoulder-to-shoulder, since there’s not much room – Kai shrugs.  
  
He had finished off the tour of the ship as instructed, though Anna had lost the previous enthusiasm that she’d had when it had been Kristoff pointing things out to her. Once they were finished, Anna asked him about the sails, and he had sighed dramatically before he offered to show her the view from the crow’s nest.  
  
“ _Crow’s nest?_ ” she had asked with a frown. “ _I – what on earth is that?_  
  
Kai had merely shaken his head from side to side and pointed towards the main mast, and that’s when Anna had spotted it; a small wooden platform high above the deck secured with a protective railing. She had grinned brightly at the sight of it and had squealed excitedly when Kai explained that they’d have to climb the rigging to get to it.  
  
Upon reaching the top, they had settled down on the wooden platform behind the iron railing, although their legs had slipped underneath it so that their feet could dangle freely over the platform, and the feel of the breeze had Anna smiling. She was leaning back on her hands, her face tilted towards the sun, whilst Kai had his forearms resting on the railing so that he could see the deck down below.  
  
The view from up here was impressive. Anna had never thought much of the sea, before – had never really took the time to appreciate its beauty – but the sight of endless clear water surrounding the ship from all directions combined with the pale blue sky and the brightly shining sun had her almost speechless.  
  
They had settled into a comfortable silence for a few minutes after that before Kai cleared his throat.  
  
“So, Anna,” he began, “how have you – how have you... settled in, so far?”  
  
Anna quickly dropped her head from the sun as she squinted over at Kai, and a broad grin lit up her face as she spoke. “Aww, Kai,” she said teasingly, “is this your way of checking in on me?”  
  
The older man had turned towards her, and he pulls a face at her before he looks back down at the deck once more. “No,” he says quickly, though he sighs and speaks again soon after. “Alright, _maybe_.”  
  
Anna wants to tease him some more – is ready with _I knew that you liked me, really_ and _admit it, I’m pretty good company_ – but for some reason, she can’t bring herself to.  
  
“I - it’s been _intense_ ,” she admits, careful with her choice of words. “But I – it's been okay, I suppose.”  
  
Kai nods in understanding. “And - and the Captain?” he prods further.  
  
Shrugging her shoulders, Anna moves to mimic his position so that she too is leaning on the railing with her forearms. Her light blue eyes dance across the deck below, watching as the men go about their work.  
  
“I don’t think he likes me very much,” she confesses, her voice small and soft.  
  
Kai sighs at her words. “The Captain is a good man, Anna,” he says. “He can just be a little...”  
  
“Serious?” she suggests when he trails off, and she swears that Kai almost laughs.  
  
“Something like that,” he nods. Silence fills the air between them again before Kai considers her once more. “You know – I know that this situation isn’t exactly _ideal_ , but if you had to be forced to marry any Captain, then believe you me, you could find a lot worse.”  
  
Anna rolls her eyes at that. “Gee, thanks,” she mutters.  
  
“I’m serious,” Kai says. “Power doesn’t always mix well with people, but thankfully, our Captain has a good head on his shoulders.” He pauses again, seems to think of what he wants to say before he says it. “Perhaps your sister saw that in him.”  
  
Anna snaps her head in his direction at the mention of Elsa. “Do you know what happened to her?” she asks, “did she tell you where she was going?”  
  
“No,” he says, “and even if she –”  
  
A sharp, high-pitched whistle breaks through the air and causes Kai to pause mid-way through his sentence. The two of them lean their heads over the railing simultaneously, looking down at the deck below in order to find where the noise originated from.  
  
Anna spots Kristoff immediately, and she thinks of how he doesn’t look too pleased at all; stood with his hands on his hips and a scowl on his face – much like the first time that she ever saw him – and his neck craned back so that he can look right at where they are sat.  
  
She supposes that he intends to look intimidating, and yet she cannot fight the urge to smile at the irritated look on his face.  
  
Mattias is stood to Kristoff’s right, and he looks almost amused as he peers up at the two of them.  
  
Kai lets out a heavy sigh from beside her before he lifts his hands to the rail and uses it to pull himself upright. “Guess that’s our cue to get back down,” he mutters – more to himself than to her, she thinks – and Anna leans her head over the railing again once she has stood up, too.  
  
Kristoff hasn’t moved, though Mattias seems a little distracted now, and he’s still watching her with narrowed eyes. Anna knows that she probably shouldn’t goad him, but she can’t help herself, and she grins brightly as she leans over the railing.  
  
She waves down to him, and she can’t hear what he says – can't even lip-read from this distance – but somehow, she just _knows_ that he’s cursing.  
  
A light laugh escapes her lips at the thought before Kai calls out to her from where he is stood on the rigging, waiting to descend.  
  
“Coming!” she calls, and she smiles the whole way down to the deck. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> social distancing is doing wonders for my updates!!!!! I'm not going to guarantee that they will stay this regular though, since I'm back out on the wards again next week, so I'll no doubt have my hands full once again 
> 
> ANYWAY I hope you're all staying safe. everything just seems to be getting crazier and I actually feel kind of BLEH about writing a fic about a virus now lmao but here we are, I'm invested so I can't back out now !!!!
> 
> hope u enjoy x

  
  
Kai beats her to the bottom of the rigging by a couple of seconds, since he already had a head start on her, and it’s enough time for the older man to settle himself down onto the deck below and have Kristoff lean close and murmur something to him. She’s immediately suspicious – Anna has a feeling that the Captain is purposely keeping his voice quiet and low so that she doesn’t get a chance to hear what’s being said – and her curiosity has her rushing her movements.  
  
Anna has always been a little – well, _clumsy_ , though; and she’s still getting used to the way in which the ship rocks beneath her feet, and in her hurry to reach the deck, she somehow misses the rope and catches her foot at an awkward angle. She’s not particularly high – if her body were to crash-land onto the deck as a result of her losing her footing, then she’s confident that she wouldn’t necessarily break anything – but she panics regardless, and she shrieks as her hands instinctively open and let go of the rigging.  
  
Just as she thinks she’s about to smack against the ground, two large hands catch her underneath her armpits, and Anna gasps as she tilts her head backwards and opens her eyes wide. There’s hardly a cloud in the sky, though, and so the sun shines into them from directly above, and so Anna squints as a result of the bright light until Kristoff leans forward and obscures her view of the white masts above with his mop of blonde hair.  
  
The Captain frowns down at her, clearly unimpressed, and Anna smiles sheepishly up at him.  
  
“You, I – thank you,” she tells him, though Kristoff doesn’t acknowledge her thanks. He continues to frown at her for a moment before he finally steps backwards and tugs her to her feet in the process – not necessarily _rough_ in his movements, but he’s not exactly being gentle on her account, either – then turns to face Mattias.  
  
The men speak to each other as though they were never interrupted in the first place, and Anna winces a little as she attempts to put her full weight down onto her foot. She had twisted her ankle when she lost her footing on the rope, and the injury isn’t exactly anything worth making a fuss over, but it hurts all the same.  
  
She stretches out her leg and circles her ankle in mid-air, cringing a little as she does so. The sharp, shooting pain eases with the movements, further confirming Anna’s assumption that it’s nothing serious, and she tentatively places her foot down on the wooden floor once more.  
  
Satisfied, Anna glances around her, though she frowns when she realises that Kai is nowhere to be seen.  
  
“...to start the preparations,” she overhears Kristoff say to Mattias. “I won’t be long.”  
  
She looks straight ahead just in time to catch Mattias saluting. Kristoff has his back turned to her, and Anna finds that she’s a little relieved that he missed her experimenting with her injured ankle.  
  
“Captain,” Mattias says with a quick bow of his head, and he spares Anna a quick glance – she smiles, but he doesn’t return the gesture – before he walks briskly away.  
  
Kristoff turns to face her, and Anna frowns at him, confused. There’s been a dramatic change in the atmosphere around them, and she doesn’t like it, wants to know why. “What’s going on?” she asks, but Kristoff ignores her question.  
  
“Are you alright?”  
  
“I - yes,” she says, and she blinks in surprise at both his question and the change in his tone. It's only a slight alteration, but she thinks that his voice sounds softer, now. “I mean, it hurts a little, but you – I – I’m fine. It’s... it’s fine.”  
  
He doesn’t seem phased by her rambling, and his expression remains blank and neutral. “Come on, then,” he says to her with a wave of his hand, and he’s already turning his body away from her in a hurry. “I’ll take you back to my quarters, and I’ll ask Yelena to come and take a look at it for you.”  
  
Anna frowns. “What - what do you mean? The room, I –” he’s started to walk away from her already, and so Anna follows behind him quickly. “Why? Why can’t I stay here, with you?”  
  
He doesn’t respond to that, either, although she knows that he will have heard her. Anna huffs out a frustrated breath before she pushes through the ache in her ankle so that she can catch up to him. His legs are much longer than hers, and it’s a struggle to walk side-by-side with him, since he’s not exactly accommodating of her naturally smaller strides and slower pace.  
  
“And who’s Yelena?”  
  
“The ships medic,” he responds, though he doesn’t so much as turn to look at her; instead, he continues to look straight ahead.  
  
“Oh, so you _can_ hear me,” she mutters under her breath, though she’s keeping up with his quick, long strides as they make their way through the corridors, so she’s confident that he’ll have heard her comment and the sarcasm that’s laced through it.  
  
She looks up at him as they walk together and she waits for him to respond, but the only sign that he even hears her at all is the way in which his jaw hardens at the comment. She feels a little deflated by his lack of response, and her shoulders sag slightly as the two of them continue to make their way towards the room in silence.  
  
Once they arrive, she enters first and expects him to follow behind her, but he doesn’t - instead, Kristoff lingers in the doorway and watches as she hovers in the middle of the room.  
  
“What’s - what’s going on?” she asks, and he sighs.  
  
“Look, Anna – I need you to stay here,” he responds, and her brows furrow at his vague statement. He seems to sense her frustration and he runs a hand through his hair before he speaks again. “There’s another ship. Not far from here.”  
  
Well, that catches her interest. “What? Another ship? How do you –”  
  
“It’s not supposed to be there,” he interrupts. “We know which ships should be around, and this one isn’t on any documentation, and it’s not responding to any communication, either. It’ll be another hour or two before we catch up to it, but we need to get things in order.”  
  
Confused, the redhead cocks her head to one side. “What _things_? What are – what are you going to do?”  
  
Kristoff presses his lips together in a tight, thin line, and he doesn’t look as though he particularly wants to explain, but he does anyway. “We’ll be – _investigating_.”  
  
Anna isn’t sure that ‘investigating’ is the correct term for what they plan to do with the other ship, but she’s a little stunned by the development, and so she doesn’t comment any further.  
  
“So, I need you to stay here. Do _not_ leave this room until I get back.”  
  
She nibbles on her bottom lip as a thought creeps into her mind, and she’s already pretty sure of what his answer will be, but she figures that it’s worth a shot –  
  
“Can’t I come with you?” she asks, “to... investigate?”  
  
Kristoff practically _balks_ at the question. “Absolutely not.”  
  
She knew that he would say as much, but she still finds herself pouting at him. “But you said – I mean, I’m supposed to be your _wife_ , so I thought that –”  
  
“No, Anna,” he interrupts her, and his tone tells her all that she needs to know. The redhead winces a little at the outright rejection, and Kristoff’s hard expression softens at the sight of her downturned mouth.  
  
He lets out a long, deep sigh before he steps towards her; and though he doesn’t close the distance between them, he ducks his head slightly so that he can look her in the eyes as he speaks.  
  
His voice is softer now, too.  
  
“Look, I – it's dangerous, okay? You’re right. You’re my wife now, and that makes you a target,” he explains, and Anna’s light blue eyes drift to the floor as she thinks over his words. “I promised that I’d train you, and I _will_ , but this is your second day on the ship, and these things don’t happen overnight. You need time, and I’m not going to risk putting you in a situation that you’re not ready for.”  
  
A small sigh escapes her lips before Anna accepts defeat with a nod of her head. There’s no way that he’s going to change his mind about this, that much is clear; and now that he’s actually explained himself, she supposes that she can _sort of_ see where he’s coming from.  
  
She just wishes that he’d elaborate a little more in the first place.  
  
Kristoff raises his arm slowly into the air, and two thick fingers hook underneath her chin and gently press against it, encouraging her to tilt her head up and look at him. Anna’s completely taken aback by the contact, and her lips part slightly in surprise.  
  
She looks at him, then – _truly_ looks at him – and she realises that his eyes aren’t as dark as she initially thought them to be; more like a honey brown, and her stomach clenches as he stares down at her so intensely. Not for the first time, Anna wonders what he’s thinking, and her heart pounds rapidly within her chest as she blinks up at him with wide eyes.  
  
“I’m serious, Anna,” he says, quieter, now. “I need you to stay here, and stay safe, until I get back. Do you understand?”  
  
She doesn’t trust herself to speak – she can barely keep her breathing steady with him so close, looking at her like _that_ – and so she simply nods her head in response. The jerky movement causes her skin to brush against the fingers that were still resting gently beneath her chin, and Kristoff drops his hand just a mere second or two later.  
  
“Good,” he says, and Anna releases a breath that she didn’t know she was holding. Those honey coloured eyes dance over her face, and she watches the way in which the corners of his lips twitch ever so slightly, almost like he wants to smile. “Why do I have a feeling that you’re going to be nothing but trouble for me?” he murmurs.  
  
Anna swallows thickly before she speaks. “I have no idea,” she tells him, her voice equally low, and the Captain lets out a low chuckle as his eyes narrow just a fraction.  
  
“I’m sure that you don’t,” he says, and Anna looks at him for a moment longer before she practically jumps out of her skin at the sound of Mattias clearing his throat from behind Kristoff.  
  
The blonde hadn’t pushed the door to the room closed when he had approached her, and now Mattias lingers in the doorway. He looks a little bemused as his eyes dart between Anna and Kristoff, but she’s too busy studying the Captain – and the way in which he changes now that they aren’t alone – to really notice.  
  
His back straightens and his shoulders widen as he puffs out his chest a little bit more. His jaw hardens and his lips roll into a hard, straight line; and overall, he just seems larger and much more serious. Anna finds it a little fascinating, this quick transition from _Kristoff_ to _Captain_ , and she tucks it away into the back of her mind.  
  
She’ll think some more about this later, no doubt.  
  
“Captain,” Mattias greets. “We’re ready for you.”  
  
Kristoff has already turned his body towards Mattias, and he nods once at his first mate and then turns his head over his shoulder towards her so that his eyes can lock onto her own once more. Even the look in his eyes is different now, she thinks, and she waits patiently as they dance over her face again.  
  
If he’s satisfied by what he finds there, then he doesn’t give her any indication of it, and Kristoff sighs once more. “Behave,” he tells her, his voice low, and then he goes, closing the door to the room behind him.  
  
Anna hovers in the middle of the room, staring blankly at the back of the door and wondering why on earth she suddenly feels so lightheaded.

.

.

.

  
Yelena is older than Anna expected her to be – though she’s not sure why she came to that conclusion in the first place – but she’s nice enough, if not a little – well, _direct_. She takes one look at Anna, who has been waiting patiently on the bed for her arrival, before she shakes her head from side to side.  
  
“Nope,” she says loudly, “there’s nothing wrong with your ankle.”  
  
Anna agrees, yet the older woman insists on poking and prodding at her foot, just to be certain.  
  
“As I suspected,” Yelena confirms, “nothing at all out of place.” 

.

.

.

  
Since she arrived on board yesterday morning, Anna has been wishing for the floor of the boat to cease its swaying beneath her feet; but now that it has, she’s not quite sure that she likes it. The stillness of the wooden floor feels almost eery, and all sorts of wrong, and Anna resorts to kneeling over the headboard of the bed and gazing hopelessly out of the window for the second evening in a row.  
  
The sun hasn’t quite finished setting, yet, and the sky has been kissed a lovely pale pink as a result. There are no stars out as of yet, but Anna’s more than content to wait patiently for them to appear; after all, she has a feeling that she’ll be here a while whilst she waits for Kristoff to return from his so-called investigating.  
  
The sound of loud, deep voices hollering from outside catch her attention every now and again, but she never recognises _his_ voice, and it’s hard to make out what’s being said, so Anna just continues to look out of the window and wait.  
  
She’s always been a bit of a daydreamer – a hopeless romantic, if you will – but she has never wanted this kind of life for herself; never imagined that she would be the type of girl who sits around, waiting patiently for a man to go out and do his thing and then return, leaving her lonely in his absence. Her body itches to do _something_ , and she can only hope that Kristoff will stay true to his word about teaching and training her so that she can accompany him in the future.  
  
The more that she thinks about it, the more that Anna supposes that she can understand his logic, can see how it makes sense in this strange world. Naturally, she doesn’t know an awful lot about ships and their etiquette, nor does she know how quickly word gets out between different vessels; yet it’s not too difficult for her to conjure up a scenario in her mind whereby news of Captain Kristoff Bjorgman taking a wife is the talk of the sea.  
  
He had alluded to the significance of his presence on these waters to her last night – _when we’re at sea, I_ am _the law_ – and Anna wonders of his status, and his power, and the truth behind that statement. She thinks of the other men who work on the seas who might envy his grand ship and his capable crew, and she supposes that it’s possible that such men might go to some extremes in order to get what Kristoff has.  
  
He told her that she would be seen as a target, and she chews absent-mindedly at her lip as she thinks about that. Would she be thought of as easy pickings, now? Would someone want to threaten her and use her as a sure-fire way to get whatever they wanted from the Captain?  
  
 _Would he really give anything up for her, though?_  
  
She doubts it.  
  
Her mind wanders then to even _more_ curious thoughts; thoughts about women, and of Kristoff, and what this might mean to them. Anna can’t help but think of whether there are any women out there – perhaps who work at sea, on this boat or another, or the docks that they port at – who will be envious of her position as the Captain’s wife.  
  
Kristoff _is_ a rather handsome man, after all. He’s young, and he’s tall, and he’s clearly built well. Kai’s words ring true in her mind – _believe me, you could find a lot worse_ and _he’s a good man_ – as well as the fact that he’s clearly very powerful, and intelligent, and –  
  
She blushes. Stops herself.  
  
It’s no good to consider him like this – even in the privacy of her own mind.  
  
Especially not when he seems to think so very little of her. 

.

.

.

  
Anna has no recollection of drifting to sleep, but she wakes with a start in the same position – with her forearms resting over the varnished headboard, and one of her hands covered in drool. She gasps as she jerks further upright in the bed, and her heart thumps relentlessly within her chest as she inhales and exhales deeply, trying her best to calm herself.  
  
The sky is dark and covered in stars, and the moon shines brightly once more – illuminates the room around her – and Anna focuses on it in order to steady her breathing.  
  
After a couple of seconds of silence, she convinces herself that she must have imagined it, that it was just a noise from her dream that sounded so real that it woke her; but just as she turns around and slouches her back against the headboard of the bed, she hears the sound again – loud and clear and _awful_ – and Anna has to cover her mouth with one of her hands in order to prevent herself from shrieking in surprise.  
  
A third gunshot rings out, and then there is nothing but silence around her once more. Anna’s entire body trembles from the shock, and in an attempt to distract herself, she counts to one hundred; although that doesn’t work out the way she wanted it to, and so she continues. Anna makes it to three hundred and twelve before she’s jolted back into reality by the feel of the ship propelling forward once again, and she doesn’t even make it to four hundred before the door to the room opens.  
  
He doesn’t acknowledge her as he makes his way over towards the bed, and Anna watches with wide eyes as Kristoff reaches into one of the drawers within his bedside table and pulls out some clothes – no doubt to change into for bed. The Captain turns his back to her and strides quickly towards the bathroom, but he comes to a stop when she speaks.  
  
“I thought you were – were – just _investigating_ ,” she says, her voice quiet, barely above a whisper.  
  
She can make out the outline of his broad shoulders from the way in which the moonlight streams in through the tall windows, and Anna watches as they stiffen. He roughly yanks open the bathroom door, and though he doesn’t turn to face her when he speaks, she can vividly picture his furious expression.  
  
“Go to sleep, Anna,” he snaps, and then he slams the door to a close behind him.  
  
 _Fine,_ she thinks to herself before she practically launches her body down onto the mattress. _Screw you, then._  
  
Anna listens to the sound of running water, though she’s certain that the noise comes from the sink rather than the shower or bathtub, and she bites down on her bottom lip as she wills herself to sleep. The last thing that she wants to do is be awake by the time that he returns from the bathroom.  
  
Thankfully, she only makes it to fifty-four before sleep claims her once more. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okAY bit of a beast of a chapter but it had to be done in order to get the plot moving along nicely
> 
> I’m not like super happy with this because I was going to split it into two but it was just driving me mad so I thought u know what, just have it all !!! 
> 
> this chapter has trigger warnings of violence, threatened violence, underlying tones of rape, and more violence

  
  
For the next three mornings, the bed is empty when she wakes.  
  
On the third morning of no contact, Anna sleepily rolls over towards what has now been established as his side of the bed. She closes her eyes and inhales a long, deep breath; and the scent of him still lingers on the sheets, though it’s not as strong as it was on the first day that she arrived, and as Anna burrows her head impossibly further into the pillow, she wonders whether he even came to the room to sleep last night.  
  
It shouldn’t matter. It _doesn’t_ matter. She knows what he did – she heard the gunshots herself – and his absence has made it quite clear just how much he really does dislike her.  
  
So it’s best not to think of him at all.  
  
She stretches and yawns and sleepily blinks her eyes open as she slowly come around from dreaming, and after some time, she gives up hope that Kristoff – or anyone else, like Mattias or Kai – is going to come for her.  
  
She thinks of how today is set to be another day with no human contact, apart from the brief moments in which she pads over towards the kitchens and requests something to eat. Frederik – the head chef – is more than happy to serve her up whatever she likes, whenever she likes it; seems to take great pride in knowing that she enjoys his food, but he’s too busy to keep her company, and she doesn’t like to waste his time, either.  
  
The realisation that she has been waiting for _him_ to come back to her from whatever it is that he’s been doing the last couple of dates irritates her, and Anna mentally scolds herself for being so willing to just give up and play the part of his waiting wife. She reminds herself that she doesn’t want this life; that she’s been forced here against her will, that she’s had no say in the matter.  
  
_Besides, he doesn’t even like her anyway._  
  
Anna pushes herself upright in bed and pulls the covers away from her body. She’s not going to waste another day sitting pretty in his room. She’s not going to allow herself to become dependent on him for guidance on every little thing that she does.  
  
She _isn’t_.  
  
She needs a plan, and fast – even if only for her own sanity, something to cling to.  
  
Kristoff has hinted that they have a while yet until they dock at their first trading port – at least one week, if not two – and she has no idea where it is that they’re going to first, but she thinks that if she plays her cards right, if she’s _smart_ , then she should be able to slowly accumulate enough supplies so that she can survive when she bolts.  
  
The thought of escape, of _freedom_ , of never having to stay another day on this godforsaken _stupid_ ship causes her spirits to lift tremendously.  
  
Anna takes herself to the bathroom – just in case anyone does decide to come and find her – and she dresses quickly. She temporarily discards of her pyjamas on the bathroom floor whilst she brushes her teeth, and then pulls on the clothes she had picked out; a pair of thick black leggings and a long-sleeved, ribbed purple tee along with some dark socks and her black boots. Once she’s dressed, she spends some time wrapping two braids around the back of her head, effectively pulling the top half of her hair away from her face whilst the rest of it tumbles freely down her back in loose waves.  
  
Satisfied with her hair _(though it could probably do with a wash, at this point)_ , Anna looks over her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Inside, she feels as though she has aged years tremendously over the course of the last five days that she’s been on board the ship, yet she still looks the same as she did before Kai picked her up – soft and young, scrawny and small and _delicate_ – and she inhales a shaky breath before she puffs out her chest a little and draws her brows together.  
  
She thinks of Kristoff as she critiques her reflection; thinks about the way in which he stands, with his broad shoulders and clenched fists, thinks of the way that he looks with his narrowed eyes and hard jaw, and she tries her best to mimic that, to make it something of her own. She just about manages, and she holds the position for a few seconds, tests it.  
  
_You look ridiculous._  
  
A long, low groan escapes her as her shoulders sag in defeat.  
  
_You are the Captain’s wife_ , she tells herself as she grips tightly onto the counter beneath the mirror, _and you have every right to roam around this ship._  
  
She gives up trying to convince herself – it's simply not working – and she rolls her eyes dismissively at the mirror before she bends at the waist in order to gather the discarded clothing from the floor. She pauses as she scoops up her pyjamas and her eyes lock onto the clothes that Kristoff had been wearing when he returned to the room the other night.  
  
Kristoff doesn’t seem like a particularly messy person, with his neat piles of paperwork and his tidy room and his sparse wardrobe. She had assumed that he would have been in and out of the room whilst she was sleeping, or eating her meals; but if he’s forgotten about these discarded clothes, then she thinks that he might not have been sneaking around in order to avoid her like she had initially assumed.  
  
Anna peers over her shoulder – though the bathroom door is closed, and she knows that there’s no-one behind her – before she shuffles forward slightly, her eyes narrowing as she peers over at the crumpled-up shirt and pants. They’re covered in something, but it’s hard to make out what –  
  
Her eyes widen as she shuffles even closer, and a foul smell invades her nostrils as a result of the proximity. Anna’s brows furrow together at the vile stench, and a whimper escapes her throat when she realises that the shirt is splattered with blood.  
  
The sound of the gunshots ring through her mind, and the pyjamas that she had been holding in her hands fall to the floor as she stumbles backwards and grasps desperately for the counter in order to steady her. She lifts her free hand to her mouth and a muffled noise breaks through as she stands upright and looks in the mirror once more, noting how pale her skin has become as a result of her horror.  
  
_I’m not a monster, Anna,_ he had told her.  
  
Not for the first time, she wonders what on earth he is, then.

.

.

.

  
Anna was going to head over to the kitchens and some breakfast like she has done for the last two mornings, but after her discovery in the bathroom, her appetite has near enough disappeared; and so, she decides to have a wander around the ship. Together, Kristoff and Kai had given her a rather vague tour, but that was a few days ago, now, and she thinks that would prefer to explore her new – _temporary_ , she reminds herself – home on her own.  
  
She follows the long, winding passages around the ship and tries her best to remember what turns she has taken and what pictures she has passed so that she can head back if she needs to, or if she wanders too far, or if anyone confronts her or corners her whilst she’s alone. Kristoff didn’t seem to like the idea of her wandering around unaccompanied, though she supposes that he could very well be being paranoid or trying to scare her into compliance.  
  
Whichever it is, she’s not going to listen to him.  
  
The ship is _huge_ , with more levels than she initially thought to be possible, and Anna has lost all sense of time thanks to her exploring. Nothing seems to stand out to her as being particularly interesting or significant, though, and she somehow finds her way to the top deck; although it’s not the side that she’s familiar with, due to the size of the ship, and the men who are working in the area eye her with caution as they go about their duties.  
  
Anna feels more exposed out here, and she’s conscious of the fact that Kristoff could find her at any moment, and the thought thrills her much more than it should. She ducks her chin to her chest and attempts to avoid eye contact with the men as she hurries past.  
  
 _Ignore them_ , he had told her, _most of them haven’t seen a pretty woman in years._  
  
She has to bite down on her bottom lip in order to hold back a smile at the memory of his words, at the easy compliment that he didn’t even notice he gave her. It’s enough to temporarily distract her from her surroundings, and she yelps in surprise as she collides with a body.  
  
Long, thin fingers wrap tightly around her wrist in order to steady her as she almost falls backwards, and Anna gasps as she balances on one foot. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” an unfamiliar voice stammers, and green eyes peer into her own as the stranger helps her to stand upright. “Are you hurt?”  
  
She looks down at her wrist, where his fingers are still curled around her skin, and she steps backwards and tugs against him in order to encourage him to release his tight grip of her. He does so immediately, and Anna makes a point of wiping down her leggings and smoothing out her shirt.  
  
She didn’t actually fall, so it isn’t as though there’s anything significant there for her to brush away, but it keeps his hands away from hers, so.  
  
“No, no; it’s okay, I’m fine,” she reassures him, since he looks genuinely worried, and she smiles softly.  
  
There are so many men that work upon Kristoff’s ship, and nothing about this one makes him stand out from the rest of the crew whose faces and names she’s yet to learn.  
  
He introduces himself, then. “Hans Westergaard,” he says as he extends his hand to her, and Anna eyes it cautiously – recalls his tight grip, but lets it slide – before she meets him in the middle and shakes three times.  
  
“Anna A–” she starts, then pauses, suddenly uncertain of how to introduce herself.  
  
She recalls her introduction to Kristoff – remembers the way Mattias said his surname, _Bjorgman_ – but it feels strange, as she holds the word on the tip of her tongue, and her shoulders tense a little.  
  
Hans blinks at her expectantly, and she smiles apologetically before she continues. “I’m Anna,” she corrects, and those green eyes narrow ever so slightly as he looks over her.  
  
“My lady,” he says with a smirk and a quick bow of his chest, and Anna can’t help but huff out a laugh at the sight of his theatrics. _Really?_ “Of course,” he continues as he returns to his full height, “you’re the Captain’s...”  
  
He trails off then; cocks his head to the side as though he’s waiting for her to finish the sentence, almost as if he wants her to clarify her title. _He knows_ , she thinks, _if he knows you’re anything to the Captain, then he certainly knows you’re supposed to be married._  
  
After an awkward few seconds of nothing but silence, Anna eventually smiles and clears her throat.  
  
“Wife,” she finishes, “I’m - I’m the Captain’s wife.”  
  
A small, knowing smile tugs at his lips. “Of course!” he says to her, and gives a small shake of his head. “I don’t know how I didn’t see it before.”  
  
 _Odd._ Anna frowns at that, and tilts her own head. “Didn’t see what?” she asks, and she thinks that he knows he’s piqued her interest.  
  
“How much you look like your sister,” he says, his tone casual and light, almost as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and Anna’s eyes practically bulge out of her head at his direct words.  
  
“You - you know Elsa?” she asks, completely taken aback, and Hans nods quickly at her, though his eyes soon narrow and dart around the deck, lingering on the men who continue to go about their work.  
  
“Keep your voice down,” he murmurs, though his eyes soften when they meet with hers once more. He regards her for a long moment before he sighs, and his tense upper body relaxes. “We can’t talk here – too many eyes,” he explains, and Anna looks around to see that the men on the deck are trying to discreetly watch them. “If you can, then meet me tonight, in the library.”  
  
Her brows furrow at that. “The library?”  
  
He nods several times before he moves to pick up the items that he had dropped onto the deck when she had ran into him moments before. “Yes - two floors down from the Captain’s quarters. It’s quiet, there. It doesn’t matter what time – my shift finishes at six, and I spend most of my evenings in there, anyway.”  
  
Anna’s lips purse whilst she thinks it over. Kristoff wouldn’t like it, she knows – actually, she’s pretty confident that he wouldn’t allow her to go, whether she wanted to or not. But she hasn’t seen him for three days, now, and she doesn’t think it’s fair that he gets to control her life when he doesn’t even have the decency to make sure that she’s eating, that she’s drinking, that she’s _well_.  
  
“I’ll try,” she tells him, and his smile widens at that. 

.

.

.

  
There’s only so much pacing that she can do as she debates over whether she should or shouldn’t leave the room.  
  
But as the golden sky turns a dark shade of blue and the clock ticks to eight-thirty, Anna sighs and bends at the waist in order to tug on her boots.  
  
This is her third day of not contact with the Captain. It’s almost like he’s vanished entirely, and she would be worried if she wasn’t so furious with him. He hasn’t been there when she’s been waking, which she could have forgiven; but by the looks of things, he hasn’t bothered to come and check on her, either, since nothing in the room seems to have been disturbed over the last three days.  
  
She wonders whether he’s forgotten about her existence. After all, she knows that he would be more than capable of tracking her down if he wanted or needed her, no matter where on the ship he – or she, for that matter – was.  
  
It’s not wise to make decisions when you’re angry and spiteful, she knows, but she’s so frustrated that he’s just left her like this. It’s her fifth day here – though night is upon them, now, so it’s almost her sixth – and he knows that she doesn’t know the ship well, and that she doesn’t really have anyone else to talk to other than him, which means that he knows – or, well, _thinks_ a – that her only option would be to sit here and wait for him.  
  
All day long.  
  
Alone.  
  
For the last three days.  
  
“ _What would you have me do? Just – just sit here and wait for you to come back, like a good girl?_ ”  
  
The heat that courses through her chest is enough to make the decision for her, and Anna takes one final glance around the tidy room before she moves to leave.  
  
Her only regret is that she won’t be able to see the look on his face when he eventually returns and finds that she isn’t where he expects her to be – if he bothers to check on her at all, that is. 

.

.

.

  
“You made it,” he smiles as Anna steps into the library.  
  
She automatically moves to close the door behind her, but something stirs within her gut at the sight of him leaning casually against the bookcase – a strange sensation that she can’t ignore – and Anna rolls her lips as she opts to leave the door half-open. It makes her feel better, knowing that there’s an easy escape should she need it; or at least an open door, should she have to call out for help.  
  
The thought surprises her, and she realises then just how paranoid she’s become – not just since arriving on Kristoff’s ship, but since everything happened with the virus, since the world as she knew it came to an end. In another life, she might have laughed at the ridiculous nature of her thoughts, but she embraces them, now, and listens to her gut.  
  
Before she left the room, she thought of how it wasn’t wise to make decisions based on anger, or spite; and now, for a reason that she can’t explain, a part of her wishes she would have just stayed put and waited for Kristoff to return.  
  
The Captain hasn’t exactly been welcoming, or kind, or even overly _nice_ to her; and yet she feels safe when she’s around him, feels physically secure, enough so that despite the obvious power dynamic between them _(and the huge physical differences, too)_ she feels confident enough to sass him, to bicker with him and to push him, all whilst knowing that it’s alright, that he’s not going to do anything to hurt her.  
  
All that she knows about him is that he’s hard, and cold, and powerful, that he’s moody and dangerous and _when we’re at sea, I_ am _the law_ –  
  
\- but she’s so sure that he wouldn’t hurt her. Doesn’t know why, but she _is_.  
  
Now that she’s here, and they’re _alone_ , she realises that she doesn’t feel the same way about Hans.  
  
The atmosphere didn’t feel like this, before – she wouldn’t have come to meet him on her own, if it had – but they had been surrounded by other men, then, out in the open beneath the sunshine on the deck, and now that they’re alone, it feels...  
  
Uncomfortable.  
  
 _Trust your gut instinct._  
  
Kristoff has riled her up, though; and Hans said that he could tell her more about Elsa, and overall, this was far too tempting an offer to refuse.  
  
She can see why the men on the ship refer to this as _the library_. It’s nowhere near as large or as grand as any library that she has ever frequented before, but there are bookcases and shelves that are filled with various different books, and Anna’s eyes dance over them all. She thinks about the stars again, and wonders whether she’ll find anything in here that can teach her about them.  
  
“Yes,” she says, though her voice is a little distant even as she steps further into the room. Her light blue eyes greedily drink in the books, and she cranes her neck so that she can see right to the top of the bookcases. “The Captain has been –” she pauses briefly, thinks of what to say, “ _busy_ , today,” she explains, though she’s careful not say anything more, wary of what she should and shouldn’t reveal to him.  
  
Hans smiles at her in understanding from where he leans against one of the bookcases. “Say no more, or I'll think he’s gone mad,” he says with a gentle laugh. His green eyes narrow as he smirks over at her. “How can a man be so busy with his work when he has a wife as beautiful as you waiting for him?”  
  
Anna shifts uncomfortably beneath his gaze, and she tries not to dwell even more on the stark difference that she feels from very similar compliments. She inwardly cringes at Hans’ words, yet she remembers yesterday, how her cheeks had flushed and her stomach had clenched in delight when Kristoff had called her pretty; and she knows without a doubt that had the same compliment rolled from his lips, then she would have greedily accepted it.  
  
“So,” she says, completely ignoring his statement as she tucks some of her loose hair behind her ears and shuffles backwards, putting more distance between their bodies, though she’s hardly standing close to him. “You - you said you knew Elsa?” she asks.  
  
Hans frowns, a little – disappointed, she thinks. “Yeah,” he nods, “but didn’t you hear what I just said?”  
  
She finds herself frowning, too. “Yes,” she says, drags the word out as she eyes him cautiously. Hans moves ever so slightly towards her, and Anna’s entire body stiffens. “But I – I’m not, I don’t just sit around, waiting for my husband all day, you know,” she stumbles, hoping that the reference to her husband will be enough to halt his weird behaviour.  
  
“No?” Hans smiles, and he inches closer again. There’s still a fair bit of distance between them, but from this angle, he essentially towers over her; though the action makes her think of how he’s nowhere near as tall or as broad as Kristoff. “What _do_ you do, then?”  
  
His hand reaches out to her face, his arms long enough so that he can just about reach, and he smooths a lock of her hair behind her ear.  
  
It’s not necessary for him to touch her. She literally _just_ brushed her own hair back.  
  
“Well, I – I mean, I've only been here a couple of days, so it’s not as if –” Anna swallows thickly as one of his thin fingers trails down the curve of her jaw from behind her ear, and she cringes away from his touch. “Hans, I’m sorry, what are you – you said that you’d tell me about Elsa. My sister,” she says, and her heart begins to pound within her chest.  
  
 _Trust your gut instinct,_ she thinks again. _Run._  
  
She can’t, though; wants to, but can’t, since her feet feel as though they have been glued to the floor, and her heartbeat is loud enough that she can hear it in her ears. Apparently, her body’s version of _fight or flight_ is for her to freeze, and her eyes widen at the sound of his low chuckle.  
  
“Anna, please,” he drawls, “you and I both know I don’t know anything about your sister.”  
  
She frowns at that. “What?” she mutters, genuinely perplexed, and her heart rate impossibly quickens as he inches closer. Her feet still won’t move, and she now has to crane her neck in order to maintain eye contact with him from where he looms over her.  
  
Anna’s light blue eyes dart to the door, but he’s so close, now, and she remembers his tight grip on her wrist earlier on today, and _god_ , what has she done, why is she so stubborn and _naïve_ –  
  
“You don’t have to act all innocent, you know,” he smirks. “Nobody’s around. It’s just you and me.”  
  
Her lips open and close in a mixture of frustration and fear. “I - I don’t understand, you said that you –”  
  
His brows furrow, and he looks a little amused as he squints down at her. “You can’t be for real,” he says, laughter in his tone as he grins down at her. “Surely you’re not stupid enough to believe that any of us working here know much of anything about your sister?”  
  
 _Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid._  
  
Apparently, she _is_.  
  
“Don’t act like you didn’t know full well what you were agreeing to when you said that you’d meet me here,” he says, his tone full of warning now, and his entire expression turns _dark_ as he looks down at her.  
  
Nimble fingers wrap around her upper arm and dig into her skin through the thin material of her shirt, and Anna hisses fiercely from how tightly he grips her.  
  
“Ow!” she shrieks out in surprise. She attempts to flinch away from him, but it’s no use; his hold on her is too firm – _like it was earlier on today_ , she thinks – and panic fills her eyes as she blinks up towards him. “What are you – I didn’t _know_ , I didn’t -”  
  
He isn’t deterred by her shouting, and his fingernails pinch harshly against her skin through the thin layer of her top. Anna’s eyes begin to water from the stinging pain that shoots through her arm, and she wraps her free hand around his wrist in a weak attempt to shove him away from her, but it just seems to irritate him, and he tightens his grip on her whilst also shaking her arm in the process.  
  
He’s trembling, she realises – no doubt from the rage that is written all over his face, and Anna shakes her head from side to side.  
  
“Don’t _lie_ ,” he warns her through gritted teeth, his tone full of angry venom. His face is so close to her own now that she can feel his breath on her skin as he exhales dramatically, and his free hand rises to her face so that he can pinch her chin with his thumb and forefinger, keeping her locked in place and looking at him.  
  
He’s not gentle with her, like how Kristoff had been a few nights before, when he had tilted her chin and smirked down at her and told her to _behave_ in a way that had made her tingle all over.  
  
No, he’s _hard_ as he grips her, restricting her movement so that she can’t possibly turn or tilt her head away from him, and she cries out once more from the shock and the pain.  
  
“You knew full well what you were doing,” he pants, and _god_ , he really is furious, now.  
  
She remembers that first night, when she thought that Kristoff would expect sex from her as his wife, but he _hadn’t_.  
  
“You’re not at home anymore, _sweetheart_ ; you’re on a ship full of _men_ , and when you act like a whore, then we’ll make damned sure that you get what’s coming to you –”  
  
“Anna?” a familiar voice says, tone laced with concern and confusion, and Hans relaxes his grip on her chin at the sound – clearly as surprised as she is by the sudden interruption. It’s enough for her to be able to turn her head slightly and look over towards the doorway, and her chest heaves at the sight of Mattias.  
  
Tears had already began to pool in her eyes as a result of the stinging pain that she felt from Hans’ tight grip on her arm, and they threaten to fall at the sound of _his_ voice calling out down the passage.  
  
“Have you found her?” he asks, his voice muffled by the walls, but she still hears him clearly enough. Anna inhales a shaky breath and focuses upon the sound of his heavy boots meeting the wooden floor as he approaches the library rather than the feel of Hans’ breath as it continues to brush over her face.  
  
Mattias’ expression quickly changes from one of confusion to anger, and he doesn’t hesitate to withdraw his sword from its sheath as he glares over at Hans. The sound of the metal clinking seems to catch the Captain’s attention from further down the corridor, and Anna’s heart pounds impossibly faster within her chest as she listens to the sound of his boots quicken against the floor.  
  
Seconds later, he’s _there_ , stood in the doorway behind his first mate with wide-eyes and furrowed brows and a downturned mouth, and she whimpers in relief at the sight of him.  
  
His eyes seem to focus on Hans’ fingers and the way in which they dig into her arm, and his expression hardens instantly. He doesn’t hesitate to shoulder past Mattias in order to step into the library, and there’s no weapon in his hands, but his large fists are clenched so tightly that his knuckles are white.  
  
“Get your fucking hands off my wife,” he practically _growls_ , and Anna gasps as Hans shoves her to the floor.  
  
She stumbles to the ground from the force of him pushing her away, and Anna shrieks out loud as her ankle twists underneath her weight. It had been fine since she caught it in the rigging the other day – especially since she hasn’t been using it much – but it throbs, now, and Anna bends her knee so that she can hold it gently in her palms.  
  
Warm, large hands are on her not even a second later as Kristoff slides on his knees so that he’s beside her, and despite the pain that courses through her from the fall, despite the anger that she’s felt towards him for leaving her alone these last three days, she leans her head towards his chest and sobs in pure and utter _relief_.  
  
“Kristoff,” she gasps through her tears, and it’s been days since she said his name out loud, so it feels strange on her tongue. She squeezes her eyes tightly shut as she leans into the fabric of his dark sweater and deeply inhales that strong scent of _him_ , and she just about makes out the sound of Mattias’ footsteps as he moves towards Hans.  
  
“I’m here,” Kristoff tells her, his voice low, softer and gentler than she’s ever heard him speak before, and _god_ , she’s so glad to see him, and she knows that he must be furious with her for leaving, especially when he made it quite clear the other day that he didn’t want her to go wandering about, causing trouble –  
  
“Hey, hey, hey,” he says quickly, and she hadn’t even realised that she had been voicing her thoughts until he shushes her. “It’s alright, Anna, you don’t need to worry about me being mad at you.”  
  
She sniffs loudly against him, and she feels so ridiculous for crying – never mind the fact that she’s pretty sure she’s got snot all over him, too, but she’s going to pretend she hasn’t seen that – but she’s just so relieved to finally see him, so happy that he was there. He’s infuriating, and he’s cold and he’s distant; but she’s wanted his company for three days, now, and she doesn’t want to think about what might have happened if he wouldn’t have come looking for her.  
  
 _You knew that he would_ , she thinks to herself as she nuzzles further against him.  
  
Her entire body shakes with adrenaline, and once her sobs have subsided, Kristoff attempts to help her stand, though she doesn’t make it to kneeling before she cries out in pain from her twisted ankle. She slumps back down onto the floor again, and her bottom lip wobbles from frustration as he clears his throat.  
  
“Hey,” he says, and she knows he’s trying to be nice to her, now, “come on, I’ve got you.”  
  
With that, he scoops her up into his arms; one hand tucked underneath her knees and the other resting around her shoulders so that he can hold her in true bridal style. He lifts her so effortlessly as he moves to stand, and she it’s too easy for her to rest her head against his chest as he turns to look over at Mattias.  
  
“Take him to a cell, and make sure that you cuff him,” Kristoff says through gritted teeth, and Anna feels his chest rumble beneath his dark sweater from where her head rests against it. “I’ll deal with him later.”  
  
She swallows thickly as Hans glares over at her, and Anna nuzzles impossibly further into Kristoff’s chest before he turns and leaves. She releases a long, shuddering breath once they’re out of the library, and he carries her back to the room in silence. 

.

.

.

  
He’s gentle when he settles her down onto the mattress, and he averts his eyes when he helps her to undress – extra tentative when he removes her boots, even apologises when she cries out in pain – and again when he helps her to change into one of her plain nightdresses. Anna almost cries again when he softly nudges her in order to encourage her to lie back against the pillow, and several tears fall from her eyes when he softly pulls the covers over her, effectively tucking her in.  
  
 _He’s a good man,_ Kai had told her.  
  
She doesn’t miss the way in which his eyes darken as he inspects her arm, and she watches heat flash in them as he narrows his eyes at the bruises that are beginning to form underneath her pale skin.  
  
She swallows thickly, and she feels so, so _stupid_.  
  
“Kristoff,” she murmurs, and she hates how weak she sounds. “I’m -”  
  
“Don’t,” he interrupts. “Anna, just – just _don’t_ , okay? You have nothing to apologise for.”  
  
She sighs and doesn’t linger on wondering how he already knew where she was going with this. “I kind of _do_ , though,” she admits. “I was – I was just so mad at you for ignoring me these last few days, and he said he could tell me about Elsa, and I just...” her bottom lip wobbles as she explains. “I was so _stupid_ , and I should have listened to you. So, I am sorry.”  
  
Kristoff lets out a long, deep breath, and his eyes roam over her upper arm once more before he meets her gaze. “I’m sorry, too,” he says, and she tries her best not to look _too_ surprised. “I shouldn’t have left you alone in the first place.”  
  
One large hand moves to smooth over the top of the covers, and Anna’s breath hitches as she watches his fingers work at the fabric.  
  
“After all,” he says, his tone a little lighter, now, and she doesn’t miss the way in which his lips curve into a lop-sided smile. “I had a feeling that you’d be nothing but trouble.”  
  
He’s teasing her, she knows; and Anna just about manages to huff out a genuine little laugh before silence settles over them once more. Kristoff continues to look at her for a few seconds, and she’s sure that his eyes are telling her something, but she doesn’t know what, doesn’t _understand_ , and then his almost playful smile slowly fades into a frown.  
  
“I have to go and deal with him,” he tells her, and Anna swallows thickly. “Are you going to be alright, whilst I’m gone?”  
  
Anna nods her head once. “I think so,” she whispers, and his shoulders relax a little at her words. Kristoff moves to stand, and she feels ridiculous, but she can’t stop the question from escaping her lips. “Will you come back?” she asks, and she tries not to sound _too_ desperate.  
  
The Captain sighs once more as he pushes his shoulders back. “Yes,” he tells her, and Anna’s entire body relaxes at his confirmation. “It might be late, but –”  
  
“That’s fine,” she hurries out, and she moves to settle more comfortable against the pillow. “I just...” she starts, but can’t find the words, though his lips quirk slightly, and she thinks he might understand.  
  
“I’ll come back,” he tells her. “Now, try and get some sleep.”  
  
She does.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so my logic behind this really was that Anna's lived a pretty sheltered life up til now, even though her parents died in a pretty horrible way, and even though she suspects that she can't trust the men on the ship, she's still stubborn and naive and, u know, eighteen 
> 
> something drastic had to happen for her to realise that actually, Kristoff IS a good man, despite the fact that some aspects of his job are morally questionable; and we'll start to see a little bit more of her finally coming round to him and accepting the fact that she actually enjoys his company and wants to be around him, even though up until now she's been fighting it and not acting like she doesn't want to be near him 
> 
> she's still a little confused though so be prepared for a bit of one step forward, two steps back over the next few chapters !!!!
> 
> anyway I hope you enjoyed!!!! and thank u for all of ur lovely comments and support that you have shown to this story so far x


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one step forward, two steps back, remember? 
> 
> because Captain Kristoff is a grump who’s clueless when it comes to ‘pretty’ girls

  
  
She jerks awake to the sound of the door being nudged to a close, and Anna pushes herself upright in bed so that she can squint around the room and find the source of the sound that startled her. Her heart pounds in her chest and her arm stings as she leans on it, and she’s relieved that she didn’t close the curtains before she fell asleep as it means that moonlight streams freely through the windows and illuminates his face as he steps towards his desk.  
  
“Kristoff?” she murmurs – can't help herself, since it feels nice to be able to say his name out loud again, now that he’s here – and he hums in greeting.  
  
“It’s me,” he confirms, his voice barely above a whisper even though it’s only the two of them in the room, and Anna wants to see him, wants to make sure that he’s real, but her eyes are filled with sleep and she finds herself settling slowly back down against the soft pillow.  
  
Moments later, she hears the sound of him unbuckling his belt, and she swallows thickly as she desperately tries to push away the image of what his naked thighs might look like; thick and wide and _strong_ , muscular and hard and covered in short, fair hairs that would no doubt tickle her skin. It’s silly, and inappropriate, and _he doesn’t even like her, not really_ , so she doesn’t think of that at all.  
  
Instead, she focuses on keeping her breaths steady.  
  
The mattress dips beneath the weight of him, and she slowly rolls over – mindful of her injured ankle – so that she’s facing him, and she peeps one of her blue eyes open as he slips into place beneath the covers on the side that is unofficially reserved for him. Whilst he has changed into some sweatpants, she sees enough bare skin to note that he hasn’t bothered to put a shirt on, and Anna’s mouth goes a little dry at the thought.  
  
It isn’t as though she has much chance to gawk at him – he's tucked himself beneath the covers and pulled them over his shoulders before she can so much as blink – but the knowledge of it is enough to send her heart racing once again.  
  
It’s quiet, between the two of them; lay on their sides, facing one another but not saying anything, Anna listens to the sound of him breathing. It almost sends her to sleep, but then she feels thick fingers run softly through her auburn hair, and she’s relaxed enough that the surprise contact doesn’t cause her to flinch. She’s well aware of the fact that he could very well think that she’s still asleep, and so she nuzzles her head further into the pillowcase in order to hide the way her mouth curves upwards.  
  
Sleep tugs her in, pulls her closer, and as she flutters her eyes shut, Anna recalls the way that it felt when she had buried her head against his chest, earlier on. She nuzzles further into the pillow – the one that smells like him, only just – and she pretends that he’s holding her like that again, now, imagines that the cotton is his warm skin, and a small sigh escapes her.  
  
This evening has been a lot for her to deal with, physically and emotionally. She’s never been threatened, before, never been so scared and convinced that someone – a _man_ – was going to hurt her by taking something from her that he wanted.  
  
And she knows that it’s wrong of her to find comfort in Kristoff’s presence tonight. Wrong because he doesn’t even feel remotely similar towards her, wrong because she’s making his life and his job much harder by not listening to him, wrong because she shouldn’t even _be_ here, shouldn’t be calling herself his wife, shouldn’t be allowing herself to actually enjoy his company –  
  
But she’s so _tired_ , and he’s young and he’s handsome and he held her so carefully, and it’s not as though he has to know what she’s thinking – she'll never tell him, and it can be her little secret.  
  
“You’re my wife, Anna,” he murmurs to her, his voice so low that she thinks it’s definitely possible she could be dreaming his words, “and so long as you’re with me, then I won’t let anyone hurt you.”  
  
His hand falls away from her hair, drops on top of the covers between them, and though a part of her longs for those fingers to run patterns over her face, a small, happy sigh escapes her lips.  
  
Sleep claims her once more just a few moments later.

.

.

.

  
It’s kind of nice to wake up next to him again.  
  
It’s early – the sun isn’t even fully up yet, she can tell by the golden hue that lights the room since neither of them pulled the curtains to a close last night. She’s spent so much time in here over the last six days that she’s actually starting to get quite good at estimating the time based on how the room is filled with light, and she thinks that’s actually quite sad, so she pushes it away.  
  
Focuses on him, instead.  
  
He’s snoring softly and still turned towards her – hasn't moved at all in his sleep – and his large hand lies between them. She frowns at the sight of the dried blood on his knuckles, and she shudders at the image of what he might have done to Hans in order to mess up his hand so badly.  
  
She feels brave, in this sleepy state, and so she slowly removes her arm from underneath the covers and lightly traces the individual letters of her name over the back of his hand with her fingers. She doesn’t know why she wants to casually touch him like this, not after everything, but she _does_ , so she allows herself the pleasure.  
  
His skin is warm and softer to the touch than she thought that it would be, and she wasn’t _blind_ – she knew that he was much larger than her, in general – but the sight of his hand dwarfing her own causes her to swallow thickly.  
  
Anna wonders what it would feel like if she was to turn his hand over and intertwine their fingers, but she’s not _that_ brave, so she settles on stroking her fingers over his instead. She continues to explore the skin of his hand as such for a while, and she only stops when he lets out a particularly loud snore that causes her to jump.  
  
It’s still early, and she knows that she needs rest, so she sighs gently before she tucks her arm back underneath the covers and buries her head into the pillow once more. She searches for sleep, and for the first time since she arrived, she dreams of him. 

.

.

.

  
“I never thanked you. You know, for – last night,” she says as she lifts the fork to her lips, and she focuses on the piping hot scrambled egg rather than him. “So, uh, thank you.”  
  
She had woken up to the smell of food, and she’d grinned brightly at the sight of Kristoff setting a plate down at the end of the bed for her. It was a pleasant surprise, and she could have sworn that he looked almost bashful before he turned around and settled himself down in the leather chair by his desk.  
  
“You’re welcome,” he responds, and she’s watching him out of her peripheral and she’s disappointed to see that he doesn’t so much as tilt his head up towards her from his paperwork.  
  
Silence falls between them again whilst Anna eats her breakfast and Kristoff reads through the notes on his desk, and the atmosphere feels nothing like it did last night; it’s almost awkward, now, and she feels deflated. She doesn’t bother him with small talk or any more attempts at conversation whilst she finishes her food, and she finally catches his attention when she shifts the half-empty plate onto the top of her dressing table.  
  
Pleased – and full – she wipes the back of her hand over her mouth (just in case) and smiles softly over towards him.  
  
He doesn’t return the smile.  
  
“You’ve hardly eaten anything again,” he says, his eyes narrowed at the plate, and Anna regards it with a confused expression before she looks over at him.  
  
“Well,” she starts, drags the word out a little, “I’m full,” she explains. “I can’t stomach much more.”  
  
His jaw hardens. “Try,” he bites out, and she straightens her back defensively at his tone.  
  
 _What the hell is his problem?_  
  
“What?” she asks in disbelief, and she’s completely caught off guard by his frosty demeanor. “I - no! I already told you, _I’m full_.”  
  
She swears that he rolls his eyes at her, although it’s difficult to be sure, since she can’t see him very well from this angle. “And I told you to _try_ ,” he says to her, and Anna wishes that her ankle didn’t hurt so much so that she could jump up out of bed and throw the food all over the papers on his desk.  
  
 _That would teach him_.  
  
“No,” she says, crosses her arms for emphasis.  
  
Kristoff scoffs, clearly irritated, before he pushes his chair backwards and pulls himself to stand. He mutters something inaudibly under his breath as he does so, and then he looks over at her and speaks clearly. “Suit yourself,” he says, and he leans over the desk to sign his signature at the bottom of a piece of paper before he begins to briskly walk towards the door.  
  
The thought of him leaving her again for hours upon hours in this room, _alone_ , causes a wave of panic to rush over her. Anna’s blood runs cold at the thought, and she wants to cry out, wants him to stay, wants him to stop being so stubborn and insufferable and grumpy and –  
  
She squeaks as he reaches for the doorknob.  
  
“Where are you going?” she asks him, and she can only hope that she doesn’t sound _too_ desperate.  
  
Kristoff turns his head over his shoulder and stares at her for a long, hard moment, and his intense gaze has an ability to make her feel so _small_ that she almost curls in on herself. She isn’t sure what went wrong: he’d been so gentle and caring and kind last night, but he seemed to have gone back to despising her whilst he slept.  
  
She feels like a fool for thinking that he might have actually been warming up to her.  
  
“I have a mess to clean up,” he says, his tone stern enough that it makes her cringe. “I’ll send Yelena to check on your ankle.”  
  
Just like that, he’s gone, and she’s alone again wondering when he’ll return, _if_ he’ll return.  
  
She sighs and glares at the half-empty plate that still sits on her bedside table, and as she crosses her arms in a huff, she thinks of how he could have at least offered her a book to read before he left. 

.

.

.

  
“It’s not broken,” Yelena tells her as she lathers her hands in a generous amount of scented oil and begins to rub them over Anna’s tender ankle and foot. It’s bruised something awful – shades of blue and black that mirror the marks around her bicep from Hans’ fingers – and Anna grits her teeth from the pain. “Just a sprain. Though sometimes, those can hurt just as much, if not more.”  
  
Anna nods her head in understanding. “How long will it take to heal?”  
  
Yelena shrugs her shoulders as she wipes her hands on her pants and begins to wrap a bandage around her foot. “It’s impossible for me to say,” the older woman explains, “but if you rest it, keep it elevated and take your medication like I’ve told you, then I'm sure it will be right as rain in no time at all.”  
  
Anna nods her head once more, not knowing what else to say. Yelena is nice enough, she supposes, but she has a way of speaking to her that makes her feel – well, _childish_ , and Anna can’t shake the feeling that the older woman doesn’t like her very much at all.  
  
Satisfied with her work, Yelena gathers her things and moves to stand. She shoulders some of her grey hair away from her face and gives Anna a quick once-over from where she’s positioned on the bed.  
  
“Take those tablets,” she reminds her, pointing to the array of packets that now litter the top of her bedside table. “And remember to keep it elevated. That will help with the swelling, and the pain.”  
  
“Okay,” she responds as she fiddles with her bottle of water and begins to gather up the medication. “I will. And – and thank you, Yelena,” she says, hope that it sounds like she means it.  
  
Yelena cocks a brow at her. “I hope that you’ve learned your lesson,” she says, and the stern words catch Anna off guard.  
  
“My - my _lesson_?” she stutters, her brows knitting together in evidence of her confusion. “What do you –”  
  
“I’ve worked on ships like these for most of my life,” the older woman interrupts, and Anna’s mouth falls to a close immediately as she listens with wide eyes. “And members of the crew are almost always the same. Arrogant, and impulsive, rough and misogynistic.” Yelena’s dark eyes narrow slightly as she continues. “Luckily for you, the Captain is not one of those men, though the same can’t be said for most of his crew.”  
  
Anna’s mouth feels incredibly dry as she listens to Yelena’s warning.  
  
Remembers _his_ warning.  
  
 _You’re not at home anymore, sweetheart, you’re on a ship full of men, and when you act like a whore, then we’ll make damned sure that you get what’s coming to you._  
  
“I didn’t -” Anna begins, but Yelena cuts her off once more.  
  
“I know,” she says, and those dark eyes soften just a touch as she looks over at Anna from where she stands by the end of the bed. “Innocence paints your face almost as much as your freckles, dear. It’s easy to see. So, heed this warning, and learn from your mistakes. Next time, the Captain might not be there to save you.”  
  
Anna’s cheeks flush with heat, but she juts out her chin defiantly when she speaks. “There won’t _be_ a next time,” she tells her, and the thin, hard line of Yelena’s mouth curves up into a small smile.  
  
“I’m sure the Captain will be pleased to hear that,” she says, and then she turns to move towards the door. “I’ll check up on you in three days time. Until then, remember to keep that ankle elevated, and take your medication.” 

.

.

.

  
Yelena must have informed Kristoff of what Anna needed to do in order to help her ankle to heal because he wakes her up sometime in the night – it's difficult to say when, since the curtains are drawn, but the room is blanketed in complete darkness and she must have been asleep for a good few hours – so that he can place two firm pillows underneath her foot.  
  
She jolts awake as a result of his touch, and he isn’t rough with her, so it doesn’t hurt, but she still gasps from the surprise of it all. Kristoff doesn’t apologise for disturbing her, though; and although she can’t actually see his face as a result of the darkness, she has a feeling that he’s frowning something rotten at her by the sound of his voice.  
  
“You’re supposed to be keeping it elevated,” he snaps, and Anna just about resists the urge to groan as she rolls her eyes at him.  
  
Still, her ankle does feel a little stiff from where it’s been in a funny position whilst she’s slept, and so she tries her best to keep her foot where he’s placed it.  
  
He joins her in bed a few minutes later, and Anna blinks up at the ceiling, suddenly feeling very much awake despite the fact that she’s barely had more than a couple of hours sleep. She hadn’t wanted to hold out hope that he’d return – not after he left her for three days – but now, she’s secretly glad that he’s back, even if it is only to sleep.  
  
 _I have a mess to clean up_ , he had told her; and she hopes that he’s managed to sort out everything that he needed to, hopes that he’s not too angry with her for completely messing up all of his routine, hopes that he’ll be in a better mood tomorrow and that he might actually be able to spend a little bit more time keeping her company.  
  
 _Only if he’s in a better mood, though._  
  
Her mind wanders for a while, as it so often does now that she has so much free time to just think, and Anna can tell that Kristoff is still awake since his breathing hasn’t yet evened out and he’s not snoring yet, either.  
  
She doesn’t know how he’ll react to her question, but she needs to know – for the sake of her own sanity, and for the protection of her heart, she _has_ to have the answer. The blanket of darkness gives her the courage that she needs to help her feel bold enough to ask him.  
  
“Kristoff,” she whispers, just in case he is sleeping, though he grunts in acknowledgement almost immediately upon hearing his name. The sound causes her to bite down on her lower lip. “I want to ask you something,” she tells him.  
  
“Alright,” he responds, tone a little cautious. He’s suspicious, she knows, and she can almost picture the look of confusion on his face.  
  
“How old are you?”  
  
He honest-to-god chuckles at that, and as always, the sound surprises her. He’s always so serious, so hard-faced and no-nonsense, and it’s a nice sound to hear.  
  
“Twenty-two,” he tells her, and Anna feels a little smug with her guess.  
  
Silence covers them once more, and Anna swallows as she bites the bullet and asks him the question that she had been thinking of in the first place.  
  
“Have you ever –” she begins, then swallows, not quite sure how to approach the topic, after all. “Am I – has there ever been – you know. Anyone else. Before... before me?”  
  
Anna rolls her neck so that she’s looking over at him, though she can’t make out much of his face at all due to how dark the room is. He’s dead silent – she can’t even hear him _breathing_ – and she elaborates in order to fill the silence.  
  
“I mean, has there ever been – have you ever had another wife? Have you ever... ever done this before?”  
  
Kristoff exhales a long breath, and though there’s a reasonable amount of space between them – _he always makes sure that there is_ – Anna still feels his hot breath brush across the line of her jaw and her cheek, and she flushes at the contact. Her heart feels as though it’s in her mouth as she waits for his answer, and she’s not sure whether she really wants to know the truth or not, but _god_ , she _has_ to, because it might change everything and –  
  
“No,” Kristoff tells her, and Anna’s entire body relaxes at his answer. “There’s never been anyone else, before. Just... just _you_ , Anna,” he murmurs, and a shaky breath escapes her lips as she squeezes her eyes tightly closed.  
  
There’s a beat of silence, then two, then three; and Anna doesn’t expect him to say anything more.  
  
But he does.  
  
“Only you,” he says, voice barely above a whisper, but she hears him, and her heart clenches tightly in her chest and her eyes fly open as she grins up at the ceiling.  
  
 _Only you._  
  
She waits for her heart rate to settle and her breathing to even out once more before she responds. “Me, too,” she whispers to him after a long stretch of silence, and she fights back a giggle when moments later, she hears him snore.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter is Kristoff’s POV :)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hides behind hands and submits*
> 
> so I don't usually like writing in Kristoff's POV as much as Anna's and I was kind of dreading this, but I'd always planned for this chapter to be the first insight we got into his mind and I actually kind of had fun writing from Captain Kristoff's perspective so, u know, that's new hehe 
> 
> I'm still not completely happy with it but I never am when I'm writing from his POV so I just really hope that it's as good as some of you were hoping it would be ihjreklmsdf
> 
> so yeah, hope u enjoy !!!

  
  
Anna Arendelle was trouble with a capital _T_.  
  
Her sister had been bad enough, he had thought; with her sneaking onto his ship in search of what she had believed to be a cure, with her lashing out at his men when they caught her snooping around, with her holding a small, blunt knife to his throat in a desperate attempt to break free when he told her the sentence for the damage she’d caused, the inventory she had smashed all over the ship’s floor.  
  
_Life on board, working for the Captain._  
  
It wasn’t the first time that someone had tried to kill him, and Kristoff had absolutely no doubt in his mind that it wouldn’t be the last, either. Had you asked him eight days ago – when he had first sent Kai out in search of her – then he would have confidently said that it would be a knife or a sword or a gun that would bring him to the end of his life.  
  
All that it had taken was one look at her as she arrived on the deck of his ship that very first day. _Anna_. Anna, with her long, red hair whipping violently with the wind. Anna, with her wide blue eyes and array of freckles that slipped down her neck, far too many for him to ever count. Anna, with her creamy, pale skin and soft, parted lips and her brows slightly furrowed as she looked over him, too; and he had known in that moment that he had been so wrong, before.  
  
It won’t be a knife, or a sword, or a gun.  
  
No – his _wife_ will be the death of him. He’s sure of it.

.

.

.

Kristoff doesn’t want to hover or linger or fuss over her too much – figures she won’t want him to, anyway, since she can hardly stand to be around him. He doesn’t blame her, not really, since he knows that he wouldn’t be too happy, either, if he was in her position, stuck with _him_ , though a small part of him hopes that in time, she’ll warm up to him. Maybe even like him. Maybe even –  
  
No. He’s not going to go there.  
  
So, he mostly leaves her to it. He brings her breakfast in the mornings and he makes sure that someone brings her lunch and dinner, too, as he’s usually preoccupied during the day and the evening. He returns once it’s dark, and there’s nothing much left for him to do other than sleep, and though he has the best intentions not to wake her, he always seems to when he props up her ankle on two firm pillows.  
  
“You know,” he murmurs to her as he slides between the sheets, “if you just did that yourself, before you went to sleep, then I wouldn’t have to disturb you every night.”  
  
Anna doesn’t say anything to that; just shrugs her shoulders and smiles a little into her pillow, and a small part of him dares to imagine that she _wants_ him to wake her, that she wants to feel the touch of his hands against the skin of her ankle and her foot, that she wants him to give her this.  
  
It’s foolish, to think like this, and he scolds himself for being so utterly ridiculous. Just because _he’s_ messed up enough to know that he would be disappointed if she actually did prop her own foot up, if she didn’t give him the opportunity to take care of her even in the smallest of ways, doesn’t mean that she’s on his level of thinking whatsoever.  
  
He doesn’t avoid her like he did earlier on in the week, knows now that it was the wrong thing to do, even if he had thought that it was for the best at the time. He knew that she had heard the gunshots, that she knew what he’d had to do – _I thought that you were just investigating_ , she’d whispered to him in the dark, horror evident in her voice.  
  
Kristoff already hated this part of the job enough, already hated himself for the things that he had had to do at land and at sea in order to make a name for himself, to prove his worth; but he had a business to run and a vaccine to deliver in order to protect as many people as he could, and he had a crew full of men to keep safe, too.  
  
 _I was just so mad at you for ignoring me these last few days_ , she had told him. Kristoff didn’t understand, not really, but then came _will you come back?_ and how was he supposed to say no to her, then? How was he supposed to stay away when she sounded so small and so hopeful and so sad?  
  
He recalled the information that Elsa had reeled off when she had desperately pleaded with him to take Anna, in his place, and he felt so _stupid_ for not seeing it, felt like the asshole he was because –  
  
 _my sister – eighteen – alone, ever since our parents –_  
  
 _she can’t take care of herself – she’s expecting me back any day now – she’ll die on her own –_  
  
 _Alone._  
  
Anna could judge him, if she wanted to. She could despise him, could be disgusted by his position and the things that he had to do regularly to keep his title. She could hate him with every ounce of her being, if she wanted –  
  
 _Will you come back?_  
  
– but he wasn’t going to leave her _alone_ , not again, wasn’t going to isolate her and push her out and leave her to wallow in herself.  
  
Still, that didn’t change the fact that she didn’t like him, that she didn’t want to be here. And it didn’t change the fact that he was Captain of this ship, either – and it certainly wasn’t going to just run itself. 

.

.

.

“She’s able to stand on it, now,” Yelena tells him on the third day of her bedrest, “though she knows full well that she should continue to rest. Nothing excessive, or strenuous.”  
  
Kristoff nods his head at that as he lingers in the doorway of Yelena’s medical room. He taps the door twice with his knuckles – an indication to her that he’s about to leave, now that she’s updated him – when she cocks a brow at him from where she’s leaning over a steaming pot.  
  
“You could always ask her yourself, you know,” she tells him, blunt as always, and the Captain scowls.  
  
“I know,” he finds himself saying, his tone defensive, and the older woman looks almost amused as she narrows her eyes at him.  
  
It doesn’t bother her in the slightest, that he’s the Captain – the older woman doesn’t care much for titles, or rankings, or ship propriety. She’s certainly never saluted him in her life, though he doesn’t recall her ever saluting his father, either.  
  
“You should try it,” she continues, her tone casual and indifferent as she begins to sprinkle some kind of herb into the pot. “You might be pleasantly surprised with what you find, if you’d just speak to your beautiful new wife.”  
  
Kristoff huffs out a sigh and takes one step backwards from the door, ready to leave, now. He’s flustered by her words – even if she is teasing him – and his cheeks burn pink as a result. He knows from the smirk on Yelena’s face that she is more than satisfied with how she’s thrown him, and she narrows her eyes at him impossibly more and speaks once again before he fully leaves the room.  
  
“Until then, I take it that you won’t be needing me to discuss contraception with her, too?”  
  
He scowls once more. “Fuck off, Yelena.” 

.

.

.

Kristoff pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger and lets out a long, heavy sigh before he moves to stand by Mattias. Both men crane their necks up towards the clean white sails, and the Captain crosses his arms over his chest as he frowns up at the fiery red hair that whips freely in the wind.  
  
Kristoff leans his head slightly towards Mattias, though he keeps his eyes locked on the crow’s nest as he speaks. “Any idea what my wife’s doing up there when she’s supposed to be on bedrest?” he asks, though he knows that his first mate won’t have had much say in Anna’s mischief.  
  
She had only started to hobble around on her ankle yesterday, and Yelena had been very clear that she shouldn’t be doing anything excessive, or strenuous. He had relayed the message to her late last night, when he returned to bed, and Anna had hummed in understanding.  
  
Clearly, she thought she knew better, today.  
  
“I have no idea,” Mattias responds, and his own dark eyes are still very much locked onto the crows’ nest, too; so neither of them miss the way in which Anna leans her head forward over the protective railing, spots them looking up at her, and then grins brightly.  
  
Kristoff lets out an irritated sigh at the sight – evidently, she was trying to kill him – and Mattias sounds amused when he speaks again. “Though I'm starting to think she might be trying to get your attention, Captain.”  
  
Kristoff drops his arms down by his sides and continues to glare up at her. “Mission accomplished,” he mutters under his breath, and his first mate lets out a small chuckle from behind him as the Captain strides over towards the bottom of the rigging that leads up towards the platform.  
  
“Want me to take over your shift on lookout?” Mattias calls as Kristoff stretches his arms above his head and wraps his fists around the rope, and the Captain nods his head once.  
  
“Please, Mattias,” Kristoff says as he begins to climb the rigging, and he can almost _hear_ the man salute from behind him.  
  
“Aye, aye, Captain,” Mattias calls, and the blonde doesn’t miss the sound of laughter in his tone before he strides away.  
  
The sun shines brightly down onto the ship from above, but the wind is bitter and cold, today – a tell-tale sign that spring isn’t quite upon them, yet – and as Kristoff swiftly climbs the rigging with natural ease _(he’s been doing this for almost as long as he could walk)_ , he thanks himself for opting to wear a dark sweater beneath his brown tunic.  
  
He reaches the platform in less than a minute, and Anna turns to look at him over her shoulder as he sits down beside her. A broad smile lights up her pretty face, and she’s never looked at him like _that_ before – almost as if she’s happy to see him. The smile is so genuine – meets her light eyes and everything – and Kristoff clears his throat as he tries to distract himself from the way his heart pounds now that he’s close to her.  
  
He shuffles into place beside her on the hard, wooden floor of the platform; and there’s not an awful lot of room up here, so he’s closer to her than he has been in a while, and he gets a whiff of her dry shampoo.  
  
Admittedly, she doesn’t smell great. He suspects that he’s much the same, if not worse, so he’s hardly complaining; instead, he mentally curses himself for not offering to draw her a bath sooner. The shower speaks for itself in terms of how it works, but she’s barely been able to stand independently until yesterday; and even then, she had spent most of the day with her ankle propped up.  
  
Apart from when he returned in the evening, of course. She never seems to have it propped up then.  
  
“Hi,” she grins at him, and the wind blows fiercely enough around them that the hair from her pony-tail whips around her face as she looks over at him. All in all, she seems rather pleased with herself, and Kristoff has to strongly fight the urge to smirk over at her.  
  
 _Trouble_ , he reminds himself.  
  
“You’re supposed to be on bedrest,” he tells her, uses his best _Captain_ voice and everything, though it doesn’t seem to have much of an effect on her.  
  
“No,” Anna corrects, still smiling at him. “Yelena said that I’m to _rest_. Nobody ever said anything about staying in bed.”  
  
Kristoff rolls his dark eyes at that, and this time, he can’t help the way in which his lips turn upwards. She notices, of course – her own light eyes flicker down to his mouth at the motion – and her smile grows impossibly wider.  
  
“And climbing the rigging counts as resting?” he asks her with a cocked brow, and Anna shrugs her shoulders at him.  
  
“Not really,” she says, “but I’m getting much better at it, so it only takes me a minute or two, so it’s hardly strenuous. And besides, sitting up here _definitely_ counts as resting.”  
  
Kristoff hums at that as he contemplates her words, and he continues to look at her even when she turns her head and looks out at the view ahead. He didn’t need Yelena – or anyone else, for that matter – to point out her beauty to him. He knew it already: had known it from the moment that he saw her, and he had been reminded of it every moment that he looked at her since.  
  
He remembers the way her sister looked – her beauty hard, and fierce, and almost striking, but Anna’s isn’t like that at all. Anna’s beauty is soft, and clean, and _easy_ , and it constantly catches him off guard, causes his breath to hitch in his throat.  
  
He’s thought of women, before – of course he has; he’s spent some nights imagining a companion for himself, has indulged himself women, too, but he’s never felt like _this_ , never had his entire body react to another the way that it does to her. He’s never had to swallowed thick lumps down his throat before, or had to shake his head to snap out of a spell that’s been cast upon him, or stuttered out his words because he’s not sure what he was even saying in the first place because he was too busy looking at her long lashes and her pretty eyes.  
  
Perhaps it’s all in his head. There’s a good chance that his subconscious is blowing this natural attraction to a beautiful woman way out of proportion since, you know, she’s now his _wife_ ; but a part of him isn’t so sure, a part of him wants to believe that it’s more than that, that there’s something stronger, there.  
  
A part of him wants to believe that she feels the same.  
  
His dreams have never been filled with freckled cheeks or creamy skin or red, wavy hair before; but they are, now, and those dreams torture him during the day, creep up on him when he’s supposed to be concentrating or something important. He knows that Mattias has noticed the way he’s distracted, nowadays – has even commented on it a few times, spoken about it with upturned lips and knowing looks, but Kristoff isn’t going to entertain him by discussing it.  
  
Not a chance he’s going to sit around, gossiping with his first mate when he’s got a ship to run.  
  
She turns and looks at him again as she speaks, the smile on her lips smaller, now, and Kristoff’s cheeks tinge a shade of pink when he realises that he’s been staring at her.  
  
“I’ll go back to the room, if you want me to,” she tells him, and Kristoff huffs out a short breath.  
  
 _Fuck_ , he really _is_ an asshole, isn’t he? This is her tenth day on his ship, and she’s supposed to be his wife, and this is supposed to be her new home, and she’s spent the majority of her time here cooped up within the four walls of his quarters and all that he’s done is contribute to her isolation.  
  
He’s never thought about being a husband, before, and he’s quickly learning that he’s not a very good one.  
  
“You - no,” he says with a shake of his head, and the wind whips harshly through his hair, has it tickling his eyes uncomfortably. “You’re fine. I don’t -” He stops there, puffs air into his cheeks as he struggles to verbalise what he means, and after holding his breath for a moment, he blows it out. “No. Stay.”  
  
She turns to him with curious eyes, and that smile grows ever so slightly wider as she watches him stumble over his words, but she doesn’t comment on it. “Okay,” she nods at him, holds his eyes for a moment before she blushes, too, and turns her head back out to look at the view once more.  
  
Kristoff doesn’t feel the need to look out at the sea. It’s surrounded him for the entirety of his life; he’s well accustomed to its rage and its fury as well as its calm and its beauty, and he’s aware of the fact that he’s now much more interested in the new, unfamiliar beauty that surrounds him.  
  
He shouldn’t stare at her. It’s probably creeping her out, if she’s noticed. But he can’t seem to find it within him to pull his eyes away from the line of her jaw and the curve of her neck and the way in which her eyelashes brush against her cheeks when she slowly blinks.  
  
A happy noise escapes her throat as she looks out at the sea. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” she murmurs – repeats his own words back to him, from that first night when he had caught her gazing up at the stars – and Kristoff’s lips twitch at the memory.  
  
He ducks his head, averts his eyes.  
  
“Yeah,” he agrees, swallows thickly as he squints out to sea. “It is.” 

.

.

.

Kristoff can’t shake the feeling that maybe he was right, the other day. Maybe she _is_ starting to warm to him after all.  
  
She can’t seem to stop smiling at him today. She’s laughed a little, too; even when he doesn’t think that he’s said anything particularly funny, or entertaining, but he tries not to doubt himself just as much as he tries not to over-think it.  
  
Part of him wonders whether she’s trying to fool him, too. He’s not exactly knowledgeable about the ways of women, and he’s suspicious of her change in attitude towards him. It’s around five days until they port, and he’s confident that if she’s going to bolt, if she’s planning on trying to leave him, then she’s probably going to do it then.  
  
He’s never been so paranoid about something before, and he won’t allow himself to think about why that is. 

.

.

.

“There’s something I need to discuss with you,” he says to her, his tone as formal and business-like and Captain-ly as he can manage; although that’s not exactly easy, when she’s looking at him like _that_.  
  
She had smiled so happily at him when he had offered to draw her up a bath – like he’d just said the best thing in the world to her – and she had lounged in the warm water long enough for her fingers to wrinkle something dramatic _(he’d noticed, when his calloused fingers brushed against hers as he handed the pyjamas that she had forgotten to take with her through the crack in the bathroom door)_.  
  
The thought of Anna bathing had distracted him somewhat, but he’d scolded himself and just about managed to focus enough to almost finalise the paperwork that he had been working on.  
  
He had been about to sign his signature at the bottom of the parchment when he had stilled completely, and for a reason that he couldn’t explain, Kristoff had found himself overwhelmed with the feeling that maybe this is something that he should discuss with her; that maybe this was a decision that they could make _together_.  
  
Anna looks up at him from where she’s perched on the edge of the bed, hand paused in mid-air from where she had been brushing thought her wet hair, and Kristoff clenches his jaw in an attempt to stop himself from gaping at her.  
  
He has seen her in her pyjamas before, obvious, but this entire scenario feels somewhat intimate: her, bathed and clean and brushing through her hair, humming under her breath to fill the silence whilst he sits at his desk and finishes his paperwork.  
  
Him, Captain of the ship, and she his wife.  
  
Normal. Domestic. Natural.  
  
 _Is this how easy it could be? If he wasn’t so hopeless, if he was kinder and softer, and if she didn’t hate him so much for forcing her here?_  
  
“Alright,” she says to him, her voice cautious.  
  
A long, unhappy sigh escapes his lips as he regards her in silence. He really _does_ need to speak to her about this – has a feeling she won’t be too pleased, if he makes the decision for her, if he doesn’t even consult her about it – but he’s not entirely sure how she’s going to react. She’s almost seemed _happy_ around him, today – well, as happy as he thinks that she can be, considering she doesn’t like him much at all – and now he fears that this might set her back once more.  
  
He’s never cared before, what someone thought of him. It’s never mattered.  
  
He doesn’t know why it does, now, doesn’t know why he doesn’t want her to hate him.  
  
“Come here,” he says to her, motions with his fingers before he lets them fall against the arm of the chair, and Kristoff watches as her eyes widen in surprise at his simple command.  
  
Anna tentatively places the hairbrush down onto the top of the bedside table as she moves to stand, and she pushes her damp hair behind her shoulders as she walks towards him, uncertainty evident in her gaze. He watches as she approaches, and he hadn’t ever given her nightwear much thought, but he does _now_ ; and he feels tension begin to vibrate through his body at the sight of her slowly advancing.  
  
She’s wearing a matching set, he thinks; a short-sleeved shirt with a low neckline and three small buttons and a pair of shorts that fall to her mid-thigh, both the same pastel pink shade. There’s a lot of smooth, pale skin on show to him, and he tries not to think about how it’s possible for her legs to look that long when she’s easily one of the shortest people he’s ever known.  
  
Anna looks a little perplexed – _of course she is, dumbass, there’s nowhere for her to sit_ – and before Kristoff can move to stand, the redhead bites down on her lip and shuffles slightly so that she’s closer to him before she hovers her backside against the corner of his oak desk. He wasn’t going to make her stand up, but from where he’s sat and where she’s leaning, he’s now pretty much eye-level with her pebbled nipples, and _fuck_ , of course she’s not wearing a bra, but if she would have just _asked_ then he would have grabbed her one of those, too –  
  
His cheeks redden, and he refuses to look anywhere but her eyes.  
  
“Is everything okay?” she asks, blinks down at him expectantly, and Kristoff realises then that he’s probably been staring at her a little too long and a little too intensely.  
  
In his defense, he hadn’t been expecting to be able to make out the outline of her hard, little nipples through her cotton pyjamas, so. You know.  
  
“Mmhm,” he manages, and his fingers twitch from where they sit against the armrests of his chair. He’s overcome with this strange desire to touch her; an urge to reach out and wrap his hands around her waist, and the creamy, newly exposed skin of her thighs, and he wonders if she’d let him, if she’d want him to –  
  
She shuffles awkwardly against the desk, and Kristoff sighs.  
  
He was supposed to be trying to be _better_.  
  
His dark eyes betray him as he tries to find the words to say to start this off on the right note, though he narrows them as he focuses on the fading bruises that cover her bicep. He’s seen them, of course, but she usually wears long-sleeved clothing during the day _(mostly due to the bitter wind)_ and then it’s usually much darker in here by the time that he returns, so he hasn’t paid them this much attention in a while.  
  
They’ve almost faded against her skin, but not quite; so, they still linger, angry purple marks that serve as a reminder as to what happens when he doesn’t keep an eye on her, when he doesn’t protect her, when he doesn’t make sure that she’s safe and accounted for, when he acts like an asshole and pushes her away.  
  
His fingers do reach out, now, and they softly skim over one of the bruises.  
  
“I’ll kill him,” he murmurs, tone casual and calm despite the anger that courses through him at the sight of her darkened skin, and _fuck_ , that wasn’t what he was supposed to say, wasn’t how he was supposed to start this.  
  
 _I’m not a monster, Anna._  
  
Oh, but he can be.  
  
His dark eyes lift to hers, then, and his fingers still hover around the bruises as he looks up at her. “I have a decision to make, about his punishment,” he explains, and then he regretfully drops his hand so that he can nudge the paper he had been working on closer towards her. “But I – I thought I’d ask you. What you wanted.”  
  
She doesn’t look as horrified as he expected, though she certainly regards him with caution as her light blue eyes shift between him and the paper on his desk. She can’t read it from the angle that she’s stood at, so he hands it to her.  
  
It’s rather vague, at the moment – just a list of his crimes, which are mostly variations of _threatening the Captain’s wife_ and _assaulting the Captain’s wife_.  
  
He means it. He’ll kill him, if that’s what she wants.  
  
“You - you want to know what _I_ want?” she asks him, her voice barely above a whisper as she finally looks down at him from the paper, and Kristoff nods his head as he looks right back at her. Anna exhales a shaky breath, and he watches her hands tremble. “I mean – I don’t – I don’t know what I want. I didn’t think – didn't expect you to... to...” she trails off, then sighs. She seems to think for a moment before she speaks again. “What have you done to him, already?”  
  
The question surprises him, and Kristoff cocks a brow. “You really want to know?” he asks, his lips pressed into a hard line.  
  
He’ll tell her, if she really does want to know, but it doesn’t make for the nicest bedtime story.  
  
“You can spare me the details,” she says, “but just – generally.”  
  
Kristoff slouches against the back of his chair. “I broke him,” he says simply, and he thinks that she can read between the lines well enough to know what he means. He doesn’t need to tell her about broken bones, and vomit, doesn’t need to indulge her in the details of crushing and snapping and cutting. “Had Yelena fix him back up, then broke him again.”  
  
He doesn’t miss her heavy swallow as she listens, and Anna moves to place the paper back down onto the surface of his desk whilst she processes his words. Her hands don’t tremble as much, now.  
  
“I don’t want you to kill him,” she says in a quiet voice, and in all fairness, it’s the answer that he had expected from her.  
  
“It’s what he deserves,” he tells her, and Anna lowers her eyes to him once more. Silence stretches out between them, and he’d asked for her opinion, asked her what she wanted and told her that he’d listen, so he thinks carefully for a moment before he speaks again. “What would you have me do with him, then?” he prods, and she bites down on her lip before she answers.  
  
“You said that you would have sentenced Elsa to life on board, without wages or freedom,” she says, and Kristoff nods in confirmation. “So, why not the same for him?”  
  
The Captain shrugs his shoulders. “If that’s what you want,” he comments – doesn't agree, personally, thinks he’s better off snapping the bastards neck and getting it over with, but he made a vow to himself to be better, and he’s pretty sure that means listening to what she wants and respecting her choices. There’s more to it, obviously, but he thinks that it’s a pretty good place to start. “His blood won’t be on your hands, if that’s what you’re worried about.”  
  
Anna shakes her head slightly. “No, I – it's not that,” she says, then she squeezes her eyes shut. “I don’t want you to kill him.”  
  
She sounds more confident, now; surer of her decision, so Kristoff accepts it.  
  
 _Alright, then. Life on board it is._  
  
“Then it’s settled,” he tells her, and he’s aware of the way her eyes burn into him as she watches him slide his chair beneath his desk.  
  
He quickly scribbles the decision down underneath the list of crimes, glances over the name at the top – _Hans Westergaard_ , and _fuck_ , Kristoff had never even heard of him before all of this – before he adds his signature to the bottom of the parchment.  
  
“There,” he tells her, “it’s done.”  
  
Kristoff pushes his chair backwards and moves to stand, though Anna remains hovering against the corner of his desk, and the feel of her palm pressing flat against his bicep causes him to stand still. He’s thankful for the thick, dark sweater that he’s still wearing underneath his tunic, since he isn’t sure he could cope with the feel of her skin against his.  
  
The tension between them is palpable, and _christ_ , if they were here under different circumstances – if she didn’t think he was a monster, didn’t resent him for forcing her to be here in the first place – then he thinks he would have acted upon that tension, would have cupped her face in his hands and lowered his mouth down to hers.  
  
This isn’t different circumstances, though. He can only dream of those later.  
  
“Thank you,” she says as she blinks up at him with those wide blue eyes, and Kristoff’s heart pounds within his chest as he peers right down at her.  
  
 _Only you_ , he had told her a few nights ago, and he wonders whether she’s beginning to see that he really means it. Hopes that she is.  
  
“You’re welcome,” he says, and then he excuses himself to change.  
  



	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for all the love you've shown to this story so far especially after the last chapter and jkmddsjkm I'm just so glad you like this little story and universe and captain Kristoff as much as I do lol 
> 
> hope u enjoy!

  
  
He’s snoring softly beside her, but Anna can’t sleep.  
  
She can’t seem to get out of her head.  
  
_I thought I’d ask you. What you wanted._  
  
She doesn’t know what she wants. Not anymore.  
  
She had been so sure, before. The last thing that she had ever wanted was to be here in the first place, on this godforsaken ship. She couldn’t lie to herself about her quality of life back home, _alone_ , but it had still been her own. She’d had her freedom, her own mind; and she couldn’t exactly risk leaving the house, but she had hope, at least.  
  
And that had seemed like a much better option than being dragged here. Better than being tied to a man that she didn’t even know, better than being married to a _stranger_ so that her sister could return to her galivanting.  
  
She had promised that she would come back, that she’d come _home_. Six weeks, that was all it was supposed to take; but the weeks turned into months, and _god_ , Anna had still held out hope, had still waited, had been worried sick, had prayed each and every single night –  
  
Anna had still _believed her._  
  
But Elsa never intended to come home. She sees that, now.  
  
_If that’s what you want._  
  
Anna had never wanted the sea; hadn’t ever longed for rocking waves and salty air, hadn’t craved the harsh, bitter wind in her hair or the mixture of isolation and freedom that being away from land brought.  
  
But as much as she tried, she couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe she could belong here, someday.  
  
She had been so certain that she would run at the first opportunity that she was presented with. Thought that maybe Elsa had believed the same, when she arranged all of this; thought that her sister might have hoped for it all along, planned for it and whispered it into the air before she left in the hopes that somehow, the message might meet her.  
  
Anna thinks that she understands, a little. It would never have been enough for her to just be here, in Elsa’s place: that would have never worked, would have never given her the chance to get out. But if she was _married_ to him, if she called her herself his wife, if she played the part well enough to make him believe it, to make them _all_ believe it –  
  
– well, then she could potentially fool him, woo him enough so that he’d let his guard slip down around her. Lure him in with soft smiles and light laughter and tender kisses and maybe more, if that’s what it took; so long as he thought that he could trust her.  
  
And then she’d bolt.  
  
_Get your fucking hands off my wife._  
  
She can’t do it. She _can’t_.  
  
She doesn’t want to.  
  
And it’s not just because he’s handsome, not just because he’s young and healthy and powerful; not just because he has the means by which to take care of her, not just because she thinks it’s a better chance for her to survive than just staying on her own, at home, waiting for a government who might never come to her rescue, after all.  
  
She’s not as naïve as she was when she first boarded this ship ten days ago. Kristoff is a Captain. The nature of his role, of his title, is to protect his ship, his men, and his treasure – _alright, the vaccine_ – and Anna knows that she’ll never fully comprehend the pressure that comes along with that, knows that she’ll never truly be able to feel the weight and responsibility that rests heavy on his shoulders, but she’s a little more open minded, now.  
  
She thinks of the gunshots that rang out so clearly in the night, thinks of the blood that stained his discarded clothes; thinks of the blood on his knuckles, too, thinks of _I broke him, then I broke him again_ , and she swallows thickly.  
  
Closes her eyes, listens to the sound of his breathing as his chest softly rises and falls like the waves of the sea.  
  
She thinks of his large hands, and how gentle they have been when he’s propped her injured ankle up against the cushions each night that she has purposely not done it herself, just on the off chance that he might touch her again. She thinks of intense gazes and dry lips and flushed cheeks when he joined her on the crow’s nest, thinks of _have you found her_ and _I've got you_ and _come here_ and _there, it’s done_.  
  
Thinks of _behave_ , and she can’t fight the smirk on her lips at the memory.  
  
_I'm not a monster, Anna._  
  
He’s not. She sees that, now; knows that he’s a good man, despite it all, just like Kai and Yelena said. He’s a better man than she ever thought that he would – _could_ – be, and she knows that it’s ridiculous, knows that it goes against everything that she told herself before; but she doesn’t want to leave this ship, doesn’t want to leave _him_.  
  
_I’ll kill him._  
  
He would have done, too. She doesn’t doubt for a moment that he would have ended Hans’ life, had she asked him to.  
  
But she thinks that she understands Kristoff better now, too; and though she has no doubt in her mind that he would have done it there and then had she said the word, she also thinks that she knows what it would have done to him to do so.  
  
_It’s more than what he deserves._ Perhaps he was right, maybe Hans did deserve a harsher punishment, perhaps by sailor’s standards, death was a sentence that was just and fair for him; but he had asked _her_ , and she wasn’t thinking about what _Hans_ deserved.  
  
No – she was thinking about someone else.

.

.

.

Thick fingers ghost gently across her forehead, trail over the line of cheekbone and brush past her jaw; and as Anna sighs happily into her pillow, they fall away, disappear.  
  
She’s dreaming. She knows she is, because he would never touch her like this; not in a million years, not even if she begged him to. She thinks that he’s warming to her, slowly but surely; so, she doesn’t think that he hates her anymore, but she wouldn’t go as far as to say that he particularly likes her, either.  
  
He tolerates her, at a push.  
  
And the logical part of her brain tells her that she shouldn’t be pulled to him at all, that she should feel just as coldly towards him, too.  
  
 _Still, though - if she really_ is _dreaming, then why doesn’t she feel the ghost of his lips, too?_

.

.

.

“Anna,” he says through gritted teeth. It’s a warning, she knows, though she can still hear the underlying amusement in his tone, “would you just – _hold still_?”  
  
She bites down on her lip in an attempt to hold back her grin as he frowns up at her, and she really _does_ try her best not to fidget beneath the brush of his fingers.  
  
She’s always been a little ticklish, though.  
  
It’s a sight that she never thought she would see: Kristoff, _Captain_ Kristoff, knelt down before her from where she sits with her legs dangling over the edge of the bed, resting on her elbows so that she could watch him carefully. He’s holding her healed ankle – _it’s official, Yelena had proclaimed it last night and everything_ – in his hands, and he offered her his services a good five minutes or so ago now, but he’s barely been able to peel off the top of the bandage so far.  
  
He narrows his eyes at her foot as he starts again, but no matter how hard she tries, her foot instinctively jerks within his grasp and a giggle escapes her throat as his fingers brush against the sensitive underside of her foot. He frowns up at her once more, and the exasperated look on his face tells her all that she needs to know.  
  
 _She wishes she had her phone now, to take his picture –_ that _would really set her off._  
  
“That’s it,” he says, “I’m going to get Yelena.”  
  
The giggle dies in her throat, and Anna pushes herself a little more upright on the bed, shifts so that she’s resting on her palms rather than her elbows as she practically pouts at him. She doesn’t think that he’s _really_ annoyed as much as he is a little flustered, but she can tell that he genuinely is close on giving up unwrapping the bandage for her.  
  
 _One more night_ , Yelena had told her, _you can take it off in the morning._  
  
It’s itchy, and irritating, and she desperately wants it off.  
  
She kind of wants him to do it, too, though she won’t linger on the _why_ ’s of that.  
  
“No, Kristoff, please don’t,” she says to him, and she hopes that her tone is light enough to pass off as playful. “I - I don’t think that it’s a good idea. You know,” _she’s clutching at straws, here_ “to bother her.”  
  
He eyes her suspiciously from where he hovers on his knees before her, and she can tell that he’s not quite convinced.  
  
 _Why would he be? He’s the Captain. He can bother whoever he wants, whenever he wants._  
  
He cocks a brow at her from beneath his mop of blonde hair, and Anna huffs out a breath that’s hard enough to make her bangs jump against her forehead. “Alright,” she bargains, “one more try, and if I still can’t keep still, then you can go and get Yelena. Deal?”  
  
Kristoff rolls his dark eyes at her, but the gesture is more playful than it is anything else – she thinks that she’s beginning to learn the difference.  
  
“Remind me who’s the boss around here?” he says, sarcasm dripping through his tone as he returns his broad fingers to her bandaged foor. She’s sure that he’s teasing her, now – he's been doing a lot more of that lately, too.  
  
“ _Me_ , obviously,” she comments, and she holds back the _I am your wife, after all_ that lingers on her tongue. Kristoff scoffs at her all the same, and she bites her bottom lip to hold off her grin as his fingers dance around the edge of the bandage once more.  
  
“I mean it this time,” he tells her in his best _Captain_ voice, though she doesn’t miss the way in which his lips quirk as he looks up at her and holds her gaze. Her heart clenches at the look on his face, and her smile slowly fades as she tries her best to appear unaffected by his eyes and his tone and his – well, _everything_. “Hold still.” 

.

.

.

“You’re not holding it right.”  
  
A long, load groan escapes her, and Anna narrows her eyes at him before she looks back down at the sword in her hand.  
  
“What do you mean?” she asks, growing irritated by his critiques. They haven’t been in what he called _training_ for all of five minutes, and he’s already corrected her posture and her positions and her holding of the sword at least a dozen times; and she’s _over it_. “I’m holding it perfectly fine. You’re just being picky, now.”  
  
He briefly explains the correct way to hold a sword, _again_ , and although he’s quickly getting on her nerves about this, she still tries her best to follow his instructions. She doesn’t understand what she’s doing so wrong, and so she narrows her eyes and focuses on the way in which he’s holding his own sword. She mimics his grip on the end of it as best that she can, and she doesn’t miss the pleased glint in his eyes.  
  
“Better,” he says to her, “that wasn’t so hard, was it?”  
  
 _Fuck you_ , she wants to hiss at him, but she knows that her cursing would likely just surprise him enough into smiling. It’s a sight that she usually wouldn’t mind – a reaction that she finds herself trying to elicit from him, more and more – but she doesn’t need him to get all smug about the way in which his casual swearing is rubbing off on her right now.  
  
“Alright,” she says, juts out her chin defiantly as she stands the way that he told her to. “Now what?”  
  
As it so happens, sword fighting turns out to be not _quite_ as easy as she had hoped. Anna has never really classed herself as someone who’s athletically inclined – she's never had much of a steady hand, or the patience to learn – but she had hoped that she’d pick this up relatively quickly, if only to spite him.  
  
Kristoff is so much stronger and faster than her, though, as well as talented. He’s a natural with the sword – though, in all fairness, he kind of _should_ be, with him being Captain and all – and he manages to make her own sword fall out of her hands and drop to the wooden floor with a _clang_.  
  
Every single time. Without fail.  
  
“Now, you’re dead,” he says to her, his tone casual as he pretends to jab her in the chest, though his sword actually slides underneath her armpit.  
  
“Dead, again,” though this time, it’s a feigned slash over her lower abdomen.  
  
“Ooh,” he practically whistles and _grins_ at her glare, “it’s a slow death, this time,” he says as he jabs her thigh with the sword, “that won’t be what kills you, though,” he explains, and then he swiftly spins the sword in his wrist, catches it effortlessly in the air as he moves it over her heart, “- _this_ will.”  
  
Anna pushes the sword away, crosses her arms over her chest and narrows her eyes at him. She’s pouting, she knows, but she can’t help it. His cocky attitude is irritating her something awful, and she makes a vow to herself then that one day, she’s going to beat him at his own game.  
  
 _That’ll show him._  
  
Practice makes perfect, though; so, “rematch?” she asks, again.  
  
Anna doesn’t know why she bothers – this time, he has the sword out of her hands and dancing across the floor in seconds. It’s almost as if he knew what she was thinking, like he wanted to prove a point; like he’d been holding back, these last few rounds.  
  
If he _has_ been going easy on her, then getting better than him at this is going to take a lot of work, and effort, and time.  
  
Anna didn’t realise just how close he had gotten to her whilst they were pretending to fight, and the feel of his hot breath falling over her face causes her light eyes to widen dramatically as she blinks up at him. Her neck is craned back so that she can meet his eyes, and he’s holding the sword just beneath her chin – the edge of the blade tickling against her skin, though she knows he’d never do anything, trusts him, now – as his chest heaves up and down.  
  
“Dead,” he repeats, his voice barely above a whisper as he looks down at her, and she slowly runs her tongue over her dry, chapped lips.  
  
 _Dead_. Anna thinks that she just might be. 

.

.

.

So many of Anna’s early, lonely days aboard the ship had been spent with her sat within the walls of the Captain’s quarters, contemplating her future and envisioning how wonderful it would feel when she could finally be free. The thought of escape – of fleeing him – had helped her to power through those days spent isolated, and confused, and hurt; and the thought of never having to see Kristoff or his stupid ship ever again had motivated her enough to continue.  
  
She had longed for the day when her feet could meet solid, firm, _still_ land again; had longed for the free second that she got so that she could run as fast as her legs would allow, but now, she feels a little sick at the thought.  
  
She’s a little worried about what this means – what she’s accepting, what she’s telling herself. What she’s telling him.  
  
Still – her mind has been made up. Even if she didn’t want to stay here, her reality is such that she has nowhere to go, nobody to run to. Her family home has to be miles away, now; they’ve been at sea for weeks, and she isn’t so sure she’d even want to go back to that, now, isn’t so sure that she wants to give up the company, and the sea air, and the wind in her hair and the glint that she sees in his eyes sometimes when he looks over at her.  
  
Anna swallows thickly as she tips the dark brown satchel upside down, and she watches the contents of it pour out across the freshly changed sheets. She frowns; she hadn’t realised just how much she had packed, just how much she had stocked up in preparation of her escape, and she lets out a heavy sight before she makes a move to organise the items into little piles that will make it easier for her to return them to their rightful places.  
  
Non-perishable foods – they can go back to the kitchen cupboards. She’s sure that head chef Frederik won’t have noticed their absence, and she’s confident that she’ll be able to sneak them back in without raising anyone’s suspicions.  
  
Two bars of soap – they can go back to the stock room. She smirks – she's confident that nobody will have missed those.  
  
Some spare painkillers that had been left over from when she had sprained her ankle. She’s not deluded enough to believe that Yelena will care much for her handing them back over one way or another, but she thinks it’ll make her feel better, to return them to the place that they should be.  
  
Thinks it’ll make her feel better to give them back, to not hold onto them anymore.  
  
She has no need to cling to them, now.  
  
“You know,” he says, and the sound of his voice causes her to physically startle. She looks up at him immediately, her eyes wide and her heart thundering violently in her ears. “If I didn’t know any better, then I’d say that you were planning to run off and leave me the first chance that you got.”  
  
He isn’t joking.  
  
He’s supposed to be helping Mattias prepare the ship to dock, and he’s not supposed to be back until it’s dark outside, but he’s here, and he’s leaning against the doorframe of the room, and he’s slouching so casually against the wood – has his arms crossed over his chest and everything – and there’s a fake little smile that dances over his lips, but he isn’t joking.  
  
She can hear the uncertainty in his tone, even as he tries to make it light. Can sense the insecurity in his voice, wants to know _why_ it’s so palpable. Can feel the worry that radiates from him, and she desperately wants him to understand.  
  
She doesn’t know how to, though, since she doesn’t really understand it herself.  
  
“I was,” she says, surprises herself with her sharp, blunt, casual honesty; and it looks like Yelena’s been rubbing off on her, too. Her eyes dance across his face, and she’s surprised to see him continue to look over at her so calmly. “I - it’s hard to explain,” she says.  
  
 _Things are different, now,_ she thinks, but she’s not sure how she’s supposed to tell him that. She’s not sure whether she wants to know if things are different for him like they’re different for her; not sure whether she can face the rejection, not sure what she’d do if it turned out that they weren’t on the same wavelength at all.  
  
“What?” he murmurs, his voice low, and Anna watches as confusion dances over his features – studies him as his mouth turns down, then his brows pull together, and he steps tentatively into the room.  
  
“Well, I _was_ ,” she repeats, her voice steady as his long strides have him moving closer towards her. “I - I had it all planned out,” she says, and she smiles down at her lap in memory of her stubborn, almost foolish, probably reckless plan. “I thought that – well, I just. I didn’t want to be here, at first,” her eyes lock onto his, “you know that. And I...”  
  
He’s so close, now, hovering by the mattress – on his side of the bed, though, not hers – and she ducks her head and focuses on a random packet of raisins as she continues. “I thought about – about how easy it could be, just to run off and leave you behind, the first chance that I got.”  
  
The mattress slowly dips beneath the weight of him, and Anna presses her lips together as she cautiously raises her eyes to his. She can’t decipher the look on his face, and she swallows thickly.  
  
“But now,” she says, voice barely above a whisper, “well - I don’t think that I want to do that, anymore.”  
  
“You don’t think?” he asks her, his mouth downturned, and _god_ , he’s never looked at her like this before, never so open and so vulnerable and so utterly _sad_ , and Anna holds his gaze for a long moment as her parted lips tremble.  
  
“No,” she says to him, and she watches as his tense shoulders relax at her words. “I _know_. I want to stay here, Kristoff,” she tells him, and now that she’s finally said it out loud, she feels a little more confident, so she says it again. “I want to stay here, with you.”  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter is them finally making their first stop!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is accompanied by trigger warnings for most things in the tags!

  
  
The horn sounds loud and long into the air, followed by _“land, ho!”_ and Anna’s light blue eyes widen in excitement. Even in her heeled boots, it’s difficult to see much of anything, and she stands on her tiptoes in hopes of a better view of the advancing shore.  
  
The deck is busier than she’s ever seen it before – there are more men here now than there were the day that she arrived, when she had climbed aboard behind Kai – and she _needs_ to see; so she scrambles quickly – weaves in an out of the crowds of men with a few _oops, I'm sorry_ ’s and _excuse me_ ’s until she reaches the rigging.  
  
She doesn’t hesitate, just wraps her fingers in tight fists around the hard, firm rope and climbs.  
  
She’s not going to scurry right to the very top – she doesn’t need to, since the view from being just a few feet above the crowd is more than sufficient – and she drops one of her arms and leans her body out into the wind so that she can fully face out towards the view of land. It’s a little careless, if not reckless, and she doubts that Kristoff would approve of her flying through the air like this, but she feels so _free_ , and the thought of his unhappy frown only makes her grin wider.  
  
Anna’s never seen anything like it before.  
  
A breath hitches in her throat as the horn sounds once more, and the men immediately begin to disperse beneath where she hovers mid-air, clinging one-handedly to the rigging. The redhead has no intention of moving anytime soon. Unlike the men, she has no jobs or tasks to contribute to, so she allows herself this moment to drink in her first experience of the ship approaching a dock.  
  
She tilts her face a little towards the sun as she grins. Anna never thought that she could ever be so happy, here on this ship, but she’s reminded of just how much can change within two weeks.  
  
“Enjoying the view?” he asks, and though he’s surprised her, Anna doesn’t jump at the sound of his voice anymore. Instead, she grins broadly as she kicks one of her legs out into the air, too, so that she’s only holding onto the rope with one hand and one foot.  
  
She’s not that high up at all, since she didn’t need to be in order to get a good view of the shore, and Kristoff is so tall that she’s able to look right into the detail of his honey coloured eyes without so much as squinting.  
  
He looks so _handsome_ , today; in his loose, white shirt that’s rolled up to his elbows and the dark pants that the shirt’s tucked into, and the wind sweeps his hair away from his face so that she’s got a clear view of all of his masculine features. She had expected him to be less than pleased with her careless position on the rigging, but his lips quirk up ever so slightly at he tilts his chin up towards her, and _god_ , it’s not fair that he can make her feel like this just by looking at her.  
  
Not when she’s not supposed to like him at all.  
  
“Yes,” she smiles down at him, feels a little silly for the way that her cheeks flush, but she’s just so happy and elated – in an awfully good mood, overall – that she can’t seem to be able to stop smiling.  
  
The wind is blowing her long, loose strands of hair so that it flies in the air behind her; and there’s no doubt in her mind that it’s being tangled something rotten, but she doesn’t care in the slightest.  
  
There’s a twinkle of amusement in his dark eyes as he continues to blink up at her, his arms crossed loosely over his broad chest, and Anna can’t help but notice how tight the material of his shirt is against his biceps. “Aren’t you going to tell me to come down?” she asks him, and Kristoff chuckles in response.  
  
“Nah,” he says, waves one of his hands dismissively at her. “I’ll let you have your fun, for once.”  
  
Her gaze drops to those strong arms again, and she recalls how good it felt to be held in them when he carried her back to his quarters all those nights ago. It’s almost fitting, she thinks, that on the one day he decides to leave her be, _she_ decides to do the thing that she expected him to want from her. Still, and idea has formed in her mind, and the thought of him holding her was apparently all the temptation that she needed.  
  
He’s so relaxed, and casual, and just completely unsuspecting of her mischief; but Anna knows that he’s got quick reflexes, so she isn’t worried in the slightest about him being unprepared.  
  
“Catch!” she calls out to him, and she doesn’t miss the way in which his dark eyes widen and his lips form a little _o_ in surprise as she swings back on the rigging – just for a little extra momentum – before she releases her hold on the rope and falls into the air.  
  
Kristoff catches her, of course. She had absolutely no doubt in her mind that he would.  
  
He’s holding her the same way that he did all those days ago; with one hand tucked underneath her bent knees and the other wrapped around her lower back, and his hands are so _big_ that his fingers end up pressing around her ribs. His grip on her there is a little too tight, but he relaxes his hold on her slightly as soon as she squirms uncomfortably in his arms.  
  
He still looks shocked as he ducks his chin to his chest and blinks down at her, and Anna smiles bashfully up at him.  
  
“Thanks!” she squeals, tries to make it playful as she raises one arm to his chest and pats him a few times, “wow, that was like a crazy trust exercise.”  
  
She near enough jumps out of his arms, then; and as she saunters away to his quarters – _doesn’t know why she decides to head there, really, she’s just still a little shocked by her own antics and flustered by the feel of his huge hands on her body_ – she feels his dark eyes burning into the back of her head.  
  
Anna turns her head over her shoulder as she reaches the small, wooden stairs that lead down to the level below, and she smiles softly at the sight of him _gaping_ at her before she disappears beneath the deck.

.

.

.

Much to her disappointment, Kristoff is still the Captain of the ship, and he has things that he needs to organise, jobs that he needs to do before he can leave it unattended for the next two nights. Anna tries her best not to behave like a spoiled brat at the news that Mattias will be the one to accompany her to check in at the hotel that they’re staying at – after all, as far as first mate’s go, he’s a pretty good one.  
  
The conversation between them is light, and airy, and, well, _normal_ ; but then they reach the hotel lobby and Mattias’ casual smile falls. Anna doesn’t think too much of it – she's too distracted by the grand, beautiful building and its marble floors and broad pillars and extravagant chandeliers; and _god_ , how were places like this even still open and functioning when she had spent so many months locked up in her house, waiting for the military to come and take her somewhere safe?  
  
They reach the front desk, and Anna smiles happily at the grinning woman who’s sitting in uniform behind it. She’s awfully beautiful – short, perfectly straight light brown locks, olive skin, dark eyes and red lips – but she’s not looking at Anna. The woman adjusts her cleavage – her tight uniform clinging to her in a way that leaves near enough nothing to the imagination – and flashes a dazzling smile at the older man.  
  
“Mattias!” the woman beams, though he doesn’t return her happy smile. The woman has a thick, foreign accent, but it’s still perfectly clear what she’s saying, so Anna waits casually for Mattias to return her friendly greeting.  
  
The Captain’s first mate has always been nice enough towards her and the others that she’s seen him interacting with during her time on the ship, and this woman clearly knows him, so Anna finds it a little odd that he seems so – well, _awkward_ around her. She thinks that there might be some history there, between the two of them, but that doesn’t make sense since the woman doesn’t seem affected at all; and the smile on Anna’s face falters a touch as she eyes him out of her peripheral.  
  
She is overwhelmed by the urge to nudge him with her elbow and mutter at him to say _something_ , because the long-stretching silence is becoming more and more awkward by the second.  
  
He just about manages to correct himself, though, with a glance in Anna’s direction and a clear of his throat. “Sara,” he says – rolls the _r_ a little and everything – before he lowers his head in acknowledgement and shifts the bag of Anna’s belongings in his arms.  
  
Anna purses her lips, confused.  
  
The woman isn’t wearing a nametag, so that settles it – they _definitely_ know each other.  
  
Still completely unaffected by his strange behaviour, Sara continues. “How are you?” she asks, her voice a little high-pitched; and she finally acknowledges Anna with a loud gasp. “Oh! Mattias – nobody told me that you’d taken a _wife_!”  
  
Anna laughs a little awkwardly. “Oh, I'm not –”  
  
“She’s not –” Mattias says at the same time, and he frowns at Anna as they both pause.  
  
Another awkward silence passes between the three of them, and as Sara’s dark eyes flicker between the couple stood before her, the wheels in Anna’s head slowly begin to turn. This interaction _really_ shouldn’t be this awkward, not unless –  
  
“Oh,” Sara says as she eyes Mattias. She looks at Anna properly, now, narrows her smoky eyes a little from behind her desk and smirks as she drinks her in. “I see,” she says, then she lets out a little laugh. It’s not a pleasant sound – it's clearly intended to be anything _but_ nice – and Anna’s eyes widen as her heart begins to drum faster within her chest. “Oh, Mattias, you can’t be serious. _This_ is the Captain’s new plaything?”  
  
Her bitter statement confirms Anna’s suspicions, and the redhead thinks that she might be sick.  
  
“Sara,” Mattias says, bites out her name in a warning tone that Anna’s not accustomed to hearing him use.  
  
She feels so _small_ beneath this woman’s glare, and she feels so useless in that all that she can do is stand there, rooted to the spot, and let her make her judgement. Anna can already imagine the comparisons that Sara is making between the two of them in her head; can see them within the other woman’s smirk, can near enough _hear_ them – because _she’s_ thinking along the exact same lines.  
  
Anna is just – nothing at all like this woman. She’s so small, and so skinny, and her breasts and her hips are nowhere near as curved or defined. Her skin is pale and freckled, not clear with an olive, sun-kissed hue; and _why_ did she decide to part her hair into two, loose braids before she got off the ship, why didn’t she just leave it down, because it doesn’t do anything to scream _put together_ like this woman’s perfectly styled bob.  
  
Oh, _god_.  
  
What an idiot she was, for ever thinking he’d warm to her at all, if this was his usual type of woman.  
  
“This is Anna,” Mattias says, and even though she really wants to do nothing more than just shrink into a ball and hide away from this woman’s judgmental stare and smug smirk, Anna just out her chin defiantly and looks right back at her.  
  
She recalls that morning in the bathroom on the ship, when she had stood in front of the mirror and thought of Kristoff; when she had attempted – rather poorly – to mimic his posture and his hard, unaffected expression. She remembers how utterly ridiculous she felt at the time, but she needs that same energy now; and so she straightens her shoulders back a little and channels her inner _captain_.  
  
“Anna,” Sara repeats, her mouth downturned as though the word leaves a bad taste in her mouth; and Anna hopes that it does, because she doesn’t say it right, anyway.  
  
“Yes,” Anna’s lips quirk, though her eyes remain cold as she leans over the top of the desk. “Anna. Kristoff’s _wife_.”  
  
Safe to say that _she’s_ the one left looking smug when Sara’s smile falls. 

.

.

.

The suite was beautiful, and huge, and Anna couldn’t stop staring as she explored the vast space. It was like a house itself rather than a hotel room, with a bedroom and a lounge area, a kitchen and dining space as well as a huge bathroom, and Anna couldn’t get over the view of the sea.  
  
“What else did you expect, girl?” Mattias grins at her as he places her bright pink duffle bag onto the end of the bed, “only the best for the Captain and his wife.”  
  
Her good mood may have been briefly dampened, but Anna felt herself beginning to perk up again as she wandered through the enormous suite. She couldn’t believe it, could hardly process it: how could it be that places like _this_ still existed, with running water and working kitchen and electricity and hundreds of rooms filled with guests who paid of the luxury?  
  
The ship made sense – at least to her, anyway. Ships were built with all of those things in mind so that the crew could be confident in their ability to function well for indefinite periods at sea. But the fact that somewhere like this still functioned well enough whilst so many people across the worl were dead, or dying, or _waiting_ just baffled her.  
  
She feels a little guilty, then.  
  
“Anna,” Mattias calls out to her, and the sound of his voice snaps her back to reality. The redhead pivots on the spot from where she’s standing in the centre of the lounge area of the suite, and she blinks over at where he lingers in the doorway between the bedroom and the lounge space.  
  
He looks uncomfortable as he shuffles from foot to foot, and Anna thinks that she knows what he’s about to say before he so much as opens his mouth. “Look,” Mattias starts, his shoulders tense, “I’m sorry, about Sara. If I’d have known that –”  
  
Anna flushes, and smiles a little awkwardly. “Mattias,” she says, her tone as light and chipper as she can force it to be, “it’s fine. Honestly. It’s - it’s really not your fault.”  
  
A heavy sigh escapes his lips, and Anna focuses on the details of his emerald green jacket so that she’s looking in his direction without actually having to meet his eyes. “I know,” he says, “but it was never anything _serious_ , and she –”  
  
She laughs a little, now, shakes her head and softens her eyes in the hopes that it’ll convince him. “Mattias, _really_ ,” she interrupts, “I mean it. It’s fine.”  
  
He eyes her suspiciously – not a chance that he buys her act, but he lets it go, anyway.  
  
“Okay,” he says to her, “if you say so.” 

.

.

.

Kristoff doesn’t return from the ship for hours; and once she’s explored, and unpacked some of her things, Anna settles herself down on the large windowsill that faces the king-sized bed. She blinks slowly out at the view of the sun beginning to set over the sea, the sky lit up in shades of yellow and gold and pink, and she leans forward so that she can press her forehead against the glass.  
  
Two weeks ago, she wanted nothing more than to be on dry land.  
  
Now, she wants nothing more than to be back out at sea.  
  
What a funny change of events.  
  
Anna wonders of Kristoff and his taste in women, and she huffs out a frustrated laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. She knows that she’s being silly, and irrational; knows that she’s being too harsh on herself and on him, too, but she can’t seem to stop thinking about how different they are. She knows that it’s only natural, to feel a little jealous, but it’s not even _that_ –  
  
 _alright, so maybe it’s a_ little _of that, too_  
  
– so much as it is that Anna is beginning to doubt the likelihood of him ever being attracted to her at all. The feeling surprises her: she might have imagined the ghost of lingering touches in the middle of the night and the early mornings, but she’s sure her imagination hasn’t conjured up everything else, like the long, intense looks, and the intimate words and the gentle caress of his hand on his ankle and the underlying tension –  
  
A knock at the door of the suite causes Anna to physically startle, and she hesitates for a moment – glances out of the window, down to the dock where the huge ship sits still – before she pushes herself away from the windowsill and tiptoes into the lounge, towards the source of the sound. Anna narrows her eyes at the space beneath the door and just about makes out two black, shiny shoes.  
  
She isn’t sure whether she should answer or not. She can’t decide whether he would want her to.  
  
Not even in a controlling way, but in a keep-your-smart-head-on-and-use-your-common-sense kind of way.  
  
The person knocks against the door again – a little louder, this time, probably in case she didn’t hear the first series of knocks – and Anna supposes that she _is_ in a hotel full of people, and at least Kristoff and Mattias know where she’s supposed to be, so really, what’s the worst that could happen?  
  
Behind the door is a man that she doesn’t recognise, dressed in a black tux and a white shirt and holding a long, black bag in his arms; and Anna blinks expectantly at him as he just, well, _stands there_.  
  
The man quirks a brow at her – his blue eyes narrowed as he looks her up and down – and she blushes at the realisation that she’s not exactly dressed appropriately for the likes of a hotel such as this. She supposes that she _could_ have changed out of her dark leggings, boots and maroon sweater; but clothing had honestly been the last thing on her mind over these last couple of hours.  
  
“Mrs Bjorgman?” the man asks her, and it takes her a moment to realise that he’s addressing _her_.  
  
Captain Kristoff Bjorgman’s _wife_.  
  
“Oh!” Anna gasps, pauses for a moment before she nods her head up and down at rapid speed. “Yes, yes,” she says, and she blushes even more, “sorry - yes, that’s me.”  
  
The man’s expression softens, and he moves closer to her so that he can pass her the bag that he had been holding so carefully in his arms. Anna stretches out her own hands so that she can take it from him, and he slides it gently into her grasp.  
  
“From the Captain,” he says, “who sends his apologies for the delay, and requests that you join him for dinner at seven o’clock.”  
  
Despite herself, Anna can’t help but smile – she's confident that Kristoff didn’t _quite_ word his ‘request’ like _that_ – and she thanks the man as she steps back into the room and locks the door behind her. 

.

.

.

Anna doesn’t know why she feels so nervous, but she _does_ ; though she admittedly feels a little better after showering, and washing and drying her hair _(with a real hairdryer and everything)_.  
  
The bag that he had sent for her contained an outfit for her to wear to dinner, and the dress that was inside was nothing short of beautiful; although the price tag that had been discarded at the bottom of the bag almost made her eyes water.  
  
The pale green material is tailored well to her body – a little wide on the waist, but not by much – and falls softly down to her ankles. She slips on the small, white heels that were positioned at the bottom of the bag, and she would have been satisfied with that, but the memory of Sara and her smoky eyeshadow and red lips irks her into applying a little bit of make-up.  
  
Nothing excessive, but enough to cover most of her freckles and brighten up her eyes; though Anna draws the line there. She attempts to twist her hair into a fancy up-do, but her arms ache a little, so she gives up and brushes through her curls, leaving her auburn locks to fall freely down her back and the exposed skin of her arms.  
  
She meets him in the hotel restaurant a few minutes after seven – it’s not that she wants to keep him waiting, exactly, except _alright_ , maybe she does – and she flushes underneath his intense gaze as she approaches. He’s cleaned up, too; wearing a dark, long-sleeved shirt and pants, and his fair hair looks so _fluffy_ and soft.  
  
She tries not to think about the way that he looks at her as she finally stands before him. He’s probably just surprised to see her looking half-decent, rather than with a bare face and messy hair; and although Anna’s not insecure enough to think that she’s ugly, she’s hardly confident now that she knows _girl-next-door_ isn’t his usual type.  
  
There are pretty girls, and there are sexy girls; and there are some girls who somehow manage to do both, but Anna safely falls into the _pretty_ category, whereas _Sara_ –  
  
“Hi,” he says to her, voice thick, and he clears his throat before he tries again. “You look – ah –”  
  
He’s struggling, and Anna smiles softly as she blinks up at him. “Hi,” she says, her voice gentle, and she watches him jerk his head a little as he looks at her. Her light eyes fall down at the dress, and she sways a little on the spot as she pulls the material out on either side of her waist, well and truly showing it off to him. “Do you like it?” she asks as she looks back up at him through her lashes.  
  
“I - yes,” he tells her, nods his head and everything. “It’s – I – yes. I do.”  
  
“Me, too,” Anna beams, and her lashes flutter slightly before she straightens. Her hands fall together in front of her waist, and she sways a little once more. “Thank you.”  
  
Kristoff opens his mouth as if to speak once again, but he’s interrupted by the sound of someone clearing their throat. “Mr Bjorgman,” the server says, and both of them turn to face the older man. “If you’re ready?”  
  
Kristoff glances down at her – his features soft and relaxed, lips parted and jaw somewhat slack – and a flash of something bursts through her chest at the memory of _her_ words.  
  
 _This is the Captain’s new plaything?_  
  
Without hesitating – not giving herself even half a second to doubt, or to question it – Anna loops her hand through the crook of his elbow and rests her palm over his forearm, fingers brushing delicately against the soft material of his buttoned-down shirt.  
  
Her heart pounds in her chest – she's never touched him like this before – but she smiles casually, like it’s the most normal, natural thing in the world for her to do.  
  
And why shouldn’t it be? He _is_ her husband, after all.  
  
“We’re ready,” she smiles, and Anna doesn’t dare look up at him as they follow the server to their table. 

.

.

.

Dinner was _divine_ , and Anna had found herself slowly but surely forgetting all about Sara and the seed of doubt that her overall existence had planted into her mind as she relaxed into conversation with Kristoff. It was a little strange, really; they had never done anything like it, before, but the awkwardness faded with each passing course, and after a reasonably sized glass of wine, Anna had been smiling from ear to ear.  
  
 _Remind me how old you are,_ he had teased when she’d opted for a glass, though Anna had only responded with a knowing smirk and a roll of her eyes. She might have been eighteen, but this certainly wasn’t her first ever taste of alcohol, and she told him as much. Plus, it was only one glass – though it still caused her to feel a little buzzed, all the same.  
  
Warmth courses through her as she brushes through the wavy strands of her hair, and she thinks about braiding it once more before she decides she’s going to leave it, for now. That tension between them has returned, she thinks; can feel it vibrating in the air as his brown eyes trail over her from behind as he lingers in the doorway, and Anna’s eyes meet with his in the floor-length mirror with a knowing smile.  
  
She had changed into her pyjamas as soon as they arrived back to the suite – had kicked off her heels before they even reached the door – though he hasn’t done the same, and he’s still wearing his dark buttoned shirt and his black jeans.  
  
“I’m going to head out,” he tells her, and the small smile falls from her face immediately.  
  
 _Oh_.  
  
He notices, she thinks; frowns at her in the mirror as he straightens, and then steps a little further into the room.  
  
“Okay,” she says to him, her voice small. It breaks a little on the word, and she hopes that he doesn’t notice, but she’s slowly learning just how silently observant he is.  
  
Her heart pounds almost violently within her chest, so hard and so fast that she’s surprised he can’t hear it, and even though the room is large and wide and open, she feels almost claustrophobic as he settles himself down on the other side of the mattress. Her back is still facing towards him, but he can see her through the mirror, and his eyes don’td his eyes don’t leave hers once.  
  
He doesn’t have to ask her what’s wrong, and she curses herself for drinking that glass of wine so happily.  
  
“I just –” she begins, and _god_ , she’s so _stupid_ , and this is utterly ridiculous, and did she really expect anything else, but, “it’s just – it's kind of embarrassing. I don’t even know.”  
  
Her eyes flicker down to her lap, and she hears him shuffle against the top of the sheets.  
  
“Anna –” he starts, voice low, too, but she cuts him off.  
  
She never thought that it would be like this, never considered the possibility that he might be the one to reject her rather than the other way around. The rational, logical, reasonable part of her brain tells her that she’s not being fair, that he can’t know that he’s rejecting her when she’s not actually given him the chance to choose her in the first place, but she doesn’t _want_ to have to do that.  
  
She’s his _wife_ , but she _isn’t_ , and god, she thinks she might actually want to be.  
  
She curses the wine, again. That’s all that this is. The wine talking.  
  
She doesn’t want to be his anything.  
  
“Will you just – be discreet?” she asks him, her eyes chancing a glance at him in the reflection, and she cringes a little at the confused look on his face. “Please?” she continues, her voice small. “This is – it’s already humiliating enough, really. And I know that you didn’t actually _want_ me to be your wife, or anything, and I get that you have – I don’t know, _needs_ or whatever, and honestly, Kristoff, that’s _fine_ , but I just –”  
  
“What are you talking about?”  
  
He looks completely puzzed, his brows knotted together and his head cocked a little to one side as he regards her face in the mirror; and Anna is overcome with the strange urge to turn around, throw her hands around his neck and kiss him on the mouth.  
  
She won’t, though. She’s not going to give him the opportunity to reject her again.  
  
 _If he wants to be the type of – of Captain-husband, or whatever he even is, that wines and dines his wife only to sneak out afterwards to meet his, his – his_ mistress _, then_ so be it _, screw him –_  
  
She scoffs, rolls her neck. “That’s where you’re going, isn’t it?” she says, her tone casual, the words dripping easily from her mouth, though there’s lingering venom that she’s sure he’ll pick up on. “To meet _her_.”  
  
Anna’s a lot of things, but she doesn’t want to be weak anymore, and if he’s going to behave like this, then as far as she’s concerned, he can face her like a man and deal with it.  
  
But his frown seems to intensify, and his eyes fall as he looks quickly around the room, clearly thinking it over; and her stomach clenches uncomfortably at the look on his face.  
  
She’s getting to know him better, she thinks, and his face screams anything _but_ guilty.  
  
“What?” he asks, dark eyes narrowing by the second as he looks to be processing her statement, “meet _who_? Who are you talking about?  
  
Oh no.  
  
She has to follow it through, now, though she’s doubting herself already, and her cheeks flush a dark shade of pink as she finally turns her head over her shoulder and looks at him.  
  
“Sara,” she says, then swallows. “You’re going to meet her, aren’t you?”  
  
“Sara?” he repeats, and it’s almost comical, how she can near enough _envision_ the wheels turning in his head as he tests the name out on his tongue, and she watches as his face falls. “ _Shit_ , I – no! Why would you think that?” he asks, and then his expression hardens almost dramatically. “What the fuck did she say to you, Anna?”  
  
“Why does it matter what she said?” Anna frowns, though she’s well and truly embarrassed herself, now.  
  
Kristoff pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, and he squeezes his eyes to a close as he inhales and exhales long, steady breaths. It’s something she’s seen him do a few times, before, and it might have made her smile, under different circumstances.  
  
“I’m supposed to be meeting Mattias and some of the crew down at the bar so that we can re-group,” he says, and his voice is thick and heavy as he blinks his eyes back open at her. He drops his hand down to the mattress and looks at her in disbelief. “Do you – do you really think I'd do that, to you?” he asks, his voice softer, now, and he sounds genuinely offended, if not a little hurt.  
  
“I -” she starts, though the loud, sharp knock on the door cuts her off.  
  
Kristoff huffs out a quick breath. “Mattias,” he murmurs; must know just by his knock, and his eyes are hard and narrowed as he looks at her once more. “I already told you, didn’t I?” he says to her as he pushes himself up to stand, and Anna watches with parted lips as he towers over the bed.  
  
He’s still distant, and far, and she wishes he was closer, wishes the bed wasn’t so big so that she could do _something_. Thinks that if she had the opportunity, then she would push herself up onto her knees so that she could cup his jaw with her hands, thinks she would trail her thumbs over his stubbled cheeks and –  
  
“You’re my wife,” Kristoff bites out, and all that she can do is stare up at him with wide eyes as he takes one step backwards. “ _You_ , Anna. _Only you._ ”  
  
She attempts to swallow down the guilty lump in her throat, and Anna thinks for a moment that he might come round to her; but then Mattias knocks again, followed by a _“Captain, you ready?”_ , and as Kristoff clears his throat, she sees the decision made in his eyes.  
  
“I’ll be late getting back,” he tells her, “get some sleep.”  
  
Her shoulders sag dramatically as he closes the door behind him, and for the third time in the last half-hour, Anna curses that god-forsaken wine.

__

_._

__

.

__

__

.

__

__Anna grumbles as makes her way out of the room and into the dark lounge, and she searches blindly for the door. It’s so _dark_ in here, and her head hurts already, and she has no idea why he seems be intent on almost breaking the door down, but she supposes that he must have left his room key behind by accident –  
  
“ _Jesus,_ Kristoff,” she hisses as she fumbles with the lock, and squeezes her eyes tightly shut as the bright light from the hallway hits her eyes. “Don’t you have your roomkey?”  
  
He doesn’t say anything to that, though; and then comes a strange, unfamiliar _click_ that has her stomach clenching with dread, and Anna slowly opens her eyes only to look directly into the barrel of a gun.  
  
“Don’t you dare make a sound,” that awful voice sneers, “or I swear to god, I’ll kill you _before_ I fuck you, not the other way round.”  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welp. I'm sorry. I hate cliffhangers but this chapter is already SO LONG so, u know. njkmerehfdijgkemr
> 
> I also think I’m going to brave it, change plan and write the next chapter from Kristoff’s POV again 😰 we’ll see tho!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise in advance about the fact that I absolutely suck at writing anything kind of action-y lmao and I really wouldn't have included it had it not been necessary for annas eventual progression/development into badass pirate Anna so, YEAH sorry about me ahhhhhhh
> 
> trigger warnings apply to this chapter x

  
  
He is an idiot.  
  
A stupid, oblivious, useless _fucking_ idiot.  
  
He kicks the chest of drawers that sits still, and peaceful, and empty – _completely empty, and he knows that it is because he pulled out every single fucking drawer and checked, just to be sure_ – and curses loudly as his foot throbs, but it’s not enough; it doesn’t hurt enough to distract him from the fury and the rage and the _pain_ that he’s feeling.  
  
All because he’s a fucking _idiot_ , and he let her blindside him.  
  
He knew all along that this was a possibility, knew that he shouldn’t have fully trusted her; not so quickly, not so soon. It wasn’t like Anna had wanted to be his wife, wasn’t like they had any kind of organic, _natural_ relationship; wasn’t like he had given her any choice in the matter, so he couldn’t fully blame her for hating his guts. But _fuck_ , he had been _trying_ ; wanted to be less of a rude, arrogant, _stupid_ asshole, wanted to be better, for _her_ , and he had somehow managed to convince himself that she was actually starting to tolerate him, that she was beginning to maybe even _like_ being around him and being on the ship.  
  
_I want to stay here, Kristoff. I want to stay here with you._  
  
Fuck him, he was an idiot.  
  
That’s all that it had taken for him to be putty in her hands, and she had fucked him over. So. Good.  
  
In any other lifetime, in any other world, hell, in any other circumstances, this might have been funny. He might have grinned a little at the thought of cat-and-mouse, might have been confident that he’d catch her, that he’d win and have her back with him, where she belonged. But he wasn’t so sure that he could, not _now_ ; not here, in this unfamiliar town, not when he had no idea where she could run _to_.  
  
And what about _her_ – had she even thought about her own safety, her own protection, or did the thought of spending another day beside him disgust her so much that she would rather risk her own fucking life than stay.  
  
She wouldn’t go home, he doesn’t think – there's nothing left for her there, as far as he knows, though he supposes they’ve not really had much chance to discuss it, so far. She doesn’t know where her sister is, either, so it’s not like she – well, actually, as far as _he_ knows, she doesn’t; but now that he thinks about it, he wouldn’t put it past that conniving, sneaky, bright-haired fucker to have planned this all out from the beginning, to have tricked him with promises of _Anna_ when he didn’t even know what they meant –  
  
_Fucking. Idiot._  
  
Kristoff slumps down on the corner of the mattress and buries his face in his hands. He lets out a groan – a pained, unfamiliar sound – and he rubs his palms over his eyelids, then slides them slowly down his cheeks as his dark eyes roam around the room.  
  
He doesn’t know what to do now. He has to find her – has to _try_ , before she goes and gets herself killed – but he has no idea where to start. Kristoff has no idea how long she’s been gone for, or what she had planned, and there are so many routes that she could have taken and so many things she could have set up to deceive him.  
  
And he had believed her.  
  
_Fuck_ , but he had. And not only had he believed her, but he had trusted her, too. He’d let himself be so consumed in her pretty smiles and happy giggles, by her jumping in his arms – and her fitting so perfect there – and her long lashes and her pretty dress, tonight; by her flushed cheeks and even her jealousy and _shit_ , had that all been an act, too? Was the whole scenario just a final stab in the heart, just to pull the wool over his eyes that little bit more, just to make him think that she was _finally_ beginning to understand what he meant when he proclaimed her to be his wife –  
  
Something hits the light, catches his eye, and Kristoff huffs out a breath as he pulls himself out of his wallowing thoughts briefly enough so that he can reach over towards the dresser and grab it.  
  
She had cleaned out near enough everything – took that bright pink duffle bag and all of her clothes, even her slippers; though she had left the dress that he had brought for her in a messy heap on the floor, a final _fuck you_ to him, no doubt – but it looks like she might have forgotten something, after all.  
  
He picks up the little gold container, holds it between his thumb and forefinger and spins it round in them. There’s no lid on the top of it – maybe she took that with her, and just forgot the other end – and he closes one of his eyes as he squints into it. He spots the soft pink colour, and he sighs heavily at the memory of her lips, and the colour she had splashed on them for dinner.  
  
Kristoff twists the thin top of the container so that the lipsticks slowly appears into view. Doesn’t know what makes him do it, really – curiosity, he supposes, along with his general moping; but the blunt, round end of it catches his attention, and the blonde finds it strange, that it looks like that.  
  
He doesn’t have much experience with lipstick, but he’s pretty sure that this is _not_ the shape it’s supposed to be, when someone has been using it purely to paint their lips. His heart rate begins to increase as he stares down at the make-up with widening eyes, and _fuck_ , could it really be that –  
  
No. _No_ , there’s no way that he’s _that_ much of an idiot, surely.  
  
But then how – and _why_ – did the lipstick look like...  
  
Kristoff drops the container to the floor, doesn’t even look to see where it rolls to as he turns his head slowly over his shoulder. His hands tremble in mid-air as he faces the floor-length mirror, and his lips part as he sees it.  
  
He doesn’t know how he didn’t see it before. He’s supposed to be _observant_ , for fucks sakes, and he completely missed this, and he scrambles to his feet so that he can rush over towards it, just to be sure.  
  
Kristoff almost falls to his knees at the sight of the baby pink lettering, and _fuck_ , it’s her writing; and he’s so relieved, so _proud_ that he almost grins.  
  
_Clever girl._ His clever, _clever_ girl.  
  
God, he really _was_ an idiot, wasn’t he; for doubting her at all, for believing that she’d lie to him, that she’d trick him. Not Anna, no – Anna was _good_ , and honest, and loyal, and maybe he hadn’t been wrong at all, maybe it _was_ all real –  
  
The sheer and utter relief that he felt at knowing she hadn’t bolted after all soon dispersed when he processed the letters that she had spelled out in small, delicate writing on the mirror; when the information clicked, and the penny dropped.  
  
The hint of a smile on his lips fades immediately, and Kristoff’s stomach clenches in horror as he stares at what she’s spelt out for him.  
  
_Hans_.

.

.

.

He hesitates only to make sure that his gun is attached to his belt, and then he sprints.  
  
That fucker. That fucking _bastard_. He’s going to kill him, going to make him pay; doesn’t care how, but he _is_ , and god fucking help him if he’s so much as touched one hair on her head, or he’s going to make it _slow_.  
  
He knew that he should have snapped his skinny little neck when he had the chance, knew that he should have just made the decision for himself; but _fuck_ , it had been the right thing to do, hadn’t it – to involve her, to ask her, to let her take control and make that decision?  
  
Clearly, it _hadn’t_ been, because look where it had gotten them.  
  
Anna might have been his wife, now, but she wasn’t a sailor. She hadn’t spent her life living on ships, not like he had; hadn’t been around men like this before, so he should have been the one to know better. He should have been firmer, should have acted like the fucking _Captain_ that he was. Should have made the decision himself, stuck to his guns, should have slaughtered the fucker.  
  
His fists pound desperately against Mattias’ door – as loud and as firmly as he can, without breaking the thing down – but he doesn’t wait, _can’t_ , so he keeps on running down the long, marble corridor, heads towards the stairwell because he can’t face the idea of waiting for the elevator.  
  
He hears it as he slides around the corner – a distant, confused _“Captain?”_ – but then his first mate instinctively springs into action, and Kristoff listens to the sound of footsteps hurrying across the floor from behind him. It’s a relief, knowing that he’s got some back-up; but at this point, the Captain thinks that the adrenaline coursing through him would be more than enough for him to be able to swiftly kill anyone who even thought about trying to stop him getting to her with his bare hands.  
  
Hans is Kristoff’s prisoner, now; sentenced to live out the punishment for his crimes on board the ship with no wages, no free time, and no luxuries, which meant that he certainly didn’t have a hotel room booked for him, like the rest of the crew. Kristoff had assumed that he would have taken her back to the ship, but now that he’s racing down the stairwell, he’s not sure that it makes sense – it would have been risky, wouldn’t it, not only to kidnap her from their penthouse room, but to also drag her through the lobby, down the beach and over to the docks...  
  
How would someone have not seen them? It’s nearly impossible, _has_ to be, and _think_ , you fucking idiot, _think_ –  
  
His feet screech against the marble as he comes to a halt, and Kristoff’s chest heaves up and down dramatically as he turns to face Mattias. It takes a couple of seconds for his first mate to catch up to him, but he’s by his side without hesitation, and he pants rapidly, too – the speed at which they’ve made it down the staircase taking its toll on them both.  
  
“Anna,” Kristoff gasps out, “Hans - he’s took her, but where, _where_ , I fucking – there’s no way he could have made it back to the ship with her, but where else could they go?”  
  
Mattias’ eyes widen as he shakes his head from side to side, confusion written over his own features. This man has just chased him down way too many flights of stairs without even knowing the reason why, or what they were about to face; so Kristoff can forgive him for his shock as he processes the explanation.  
  
“I - I don’t know, Kris, I don’t -” Mattias starts, and Kristoff runs a shaky hand through his hair as he continues to pant wildly.  
  
He has to find her, and _soon_. He has to think, and act, fast; can’t waste any time, not when she’s on her own, and _fuck_ , why did he leave it so long to start training her –  
  
Mattias’ jaw hardens before he speaks again, and Kristoff recognises that pensive look on his first mate’s face.  
  
“You say that he couldn’t have made it back to the ship with her,” Mattias bites out, and his deep, brown eyes have darkened dramatically. “But I think he could. If he had help.”  
  
Kristoff cocks a brow, and it takes a beat or two for the message to get across to him.  
  
“Holy shit,” the Captain hisses. “Of course.”  
  
 _Sara._  
  
“Back door,” Mattias says, and Kristoff nods sharply before he turns to sprint again, Mattias right by his side as they run.  
  
 _I’m coming_ , he thinks, hopes that if he wills it enough, she’ll hear him, somehow. _I’m coming, and this time, I’ll kill him._

.

.

.

There are two sets of footprints marked clearly in the sand – one set a few sizes bigger than the other – and in the middle of them is a long, swaying line.  
  
“They dragged her,” Kristoff murmurs as he looks down at the tracks, and Mattias nods in agreement.  
  
There’s nothing to dispute, really – they have both been doing this for most of their lives, so they know a trail when they see one, and neither Hans nor Sara have even attempted to cover up the evidence of their actions.  
  
 _Fucking idiots_.  
  
If the image of their hands wrapped tightly around her arms as they struggle to drag her protesting body across the sand isn’t enough to fuel him, then the memory of the bruises that Hans left on her bicep the last time he struck up enough nerve to touch her is; and Kristoff’s dark eyes narrow as he glares over towards his ship.  
  
He picks up the pace once again, and he’s spurred on that little bit more, now that his ship is in sight. 

.

.

.

They pause for a moment, once they’ve clambered onto the deck, and the two men share a look as if to say _what next?_  
  
Mattias doesn’t try to hide his panicked expression as he ponders out loud. “If you were a sick, twisted son of a bitch who kidnapped your Captain’s wife, then where would you take her?” he mutters, his voice low and his mouth downturned, but Kristoff doesn’t need long to think about it at all.  
  
He looks over at his first mate with clenched fists. “To the place where you intended to fuck with her originally,” he says through gritted teeth, and Mattias nods in agreement once again. 

.

.

.

If Kristoff had it his way, then he would have barged through the library door as soon as they arrived outside of it; but for some reason or another, Mattias had held out his hand as if to stop him, and then had slowly raised a finger to his lips in a plea for him to be quiet.  
  
The Captain doesn’t think that this is really the best time to eavesdrop – not when his wife’s behind that door – but still, he trusts his first mate, and so he nods his head once and presses his ear up against the door. Mattias mimics his position only half a second later, and Kristoff doesn’t need to warn him that the second he decides its time, then he’s going to break this door down, if that’s what it takes to get to her.  
  
Their voices are muffled through the wood, and Kristoff’s frustrated at how little he is actually able to hear through the surface. There’s a high-pitched laugh _(Sara, he thinks)_ and then a low chuckle _(which has to be Hans)_ ; but it’s the sound of _her_ soft, barely-there sob that does him in, and there’s no way that he can just stand here and wait any longer.  
  
He braces himself to shoulder the door open, and that’s when he hears it, somehow clearer now that he’s not got his ear pressed up to the surface –  
  
“Your Captain isn’t coming, sweetheart.”  
  
 _Yes he fucking is._  
  
Mattias moves away from the door just in time, and Kristoff narrows his eyes as he barges into the room.  
  
He seeks her out immediately, his dark eyes roaming over the chaotic scene that awaits him, and his heart practically falls to his stomach at the sight of her.  
  
She’s curled up into a ball on the floor, her wrists and ankles bound together with some kind of rope, and her eyes look so _sad_ , so frightened and yet relieved all at once as she stares up at him. Kristoff’s breath catches in his throat, and _fuck him_ , her face is dry; but of _course_ it is, stubborn thing that she is, not a chance she’d let this asshole make her shed a tear, and the thought of her fiery attitude would have made him grin under any other circumstances –  
  
The bastard lets out a shaky breath, and Kristoff remembers why he’s here.  
  
Anna’s still wearing her pyjama bottoms – light grey joggers that come in just above her ankles – but he notices then the fact that her top half is bare, and his dark eyes flicker to the shredded clothing that lies discarded across the library floor.  
  
Kristoff tilts his chin up, but all that he can see is red, and before he can stop himself, he removes the gun from his belt and fires two warning shots.  
  
One into his abdomen, the other into her skull.  
  
Pulling the trigger of the gun is an action that’s almost instinctive to him, and the sound is one he’s long since grown accustomed to, but he doesn’t miss the way in which Anna flinches against the bottom of the bookcase that she’s propped against at the loud sound of gunfire. Kristoff’s chest heaves up and down for a moment as he stares over at her, and then his weapon falls from his hands; clatters loudly against the floor as he moves towards her.  
  
The Captain quickly finds himself kneeling before her, finds his hands moving to untie the knots of the rope, his body moving whilst his mind still attempts to process the scene.  
  
She breathes out his name, but Kristoff doesn’t respond; instead, he focuses on freeing her hands, then her ankles, and then his large palms quickly move to rub around the skin of her petite wrists. He touches her more easily than he ever has done before, but he doesn’t blush, not this time. He needs to keep contact with her, has to know that she’s there, that she’s _real_.  
  
Still – he curses at the tell-tale feel of rope burn beneath his calloused hands, and he lowers his eyes so that he can examine her reddened skin.  
  
He’s so close to her, now; near enough shielding her body with his own, protecting her from the gruesome sight of two freshly-dead bodies on the library floor, and he wants to lean forward just a touch and press his forehead against hers, wants her to hear his silent pleas for forgiveness, wants to mutter his apology into her skin –  
  
– but then her lips quirk, just a touch, and she gasps a little in disbelief, and the corners of her eyes pool with tears all at once.  
  
“You found me,” she murmurs, and he hears the shock and relief in her voice.  
  
He finds himself wanting to smile, but he can’t; though he relishes in the way that relief floods through him. “Of course I did,” he says to her, and his heart pounds as he blinks down at her.  
  
“Kristoff,” she repeats, her voice shaky, “I – you – you _came_ ,” she manages to get out, and then her mouth contorts into a twisted, _devastated_ grimace, and her body heaves violently with the motion of her sobs.  
  
 _Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck._  
  
Now isn’t the time to panic about what to do with a crying woman – with his crying _wife_.  
  
The memory of carrying her back to his quarters from this very room, of holding her weight in his arms and keeping her pressed closely against his chest, is one that he is unlikely to ever forget in his lifetime. He doesn’t know what else to do, now – he's not good with the aftermath, not really, or the emotional fallout that comes from something like this, but he’s all out of ideas.  
  
She moves to cover herself, her bottom lip wobbling as she inhales a sharp, shaky breaths between her sobs, and Kristoff curses himself for being so slow and so stupid as he recalls the fact that she’s half-naked in front of him and his first mate. He makes quick work of unbuttoning his shirt – surprised at how steady his fingers are, to say that he’s just murdered two people – and he shrugs the material away from his skin and drapes it over her shoulders as smoothly as he can.  
  
She doesn’t protest – though in all fairness, he hadn’t expected her to – and she inhales another shaky breath as he lifts her easily into his arms. The Captain doesn’t know how his legs manage to keep steady, but they do, and he places his hand against the back of her head in what he hopes is a gentle encouragement for her to bury her face into his bare chest and not look at the mess that scatters the library floor.  
  
She falls against him easily, and Kristoff doesn’t so much as think twice about the way in which she rubs her damp face against his dry skin.  
  
His brown eyes roam over the two bodies, and he sneers down at the bastard that caused all this mess in the first place. “Gather up the men,” Kristoff says, his voice thick as his eyes linger on Hans’ body. “Tell them that we leave in one hour. I expect them all to be back on board within that time, or they’ll be left behind,” he bites out, tilts his chin so that he can meet Mattias’ eyes, “no exceptions.”  
  
If Mattias is surprised, he doesn’t show it. “Aye, aye, Captain,” he says with a salute, and Kristoff shifts Anna ever so slightly in his arms before he strides over towards the door and crosses the threshold, leaving the dead bodies behind them.  
  
Anna’s tears continue to fall onto his skin, though her sobs aren’t audible anymore; and Kristoff wishes that he knew the words to say in order to comfort her, but he wouldn’t even know where to begin, isn’t sure that he believes she’d want to hear them, anyway, and so he simply swallows thickly and glances down at her as he makes his way down the long, winding passages towards his quarters.  
  
He knows this ship like the back of his hand, and he could make it there with his eyes tightly shut, so he doesn’t take his eyes off her.  
  
Much like the last time that he carried her here, they make the journey in silence, bar her soft cries; but Kristoff can’t hold back the words that seem to fall easily from his tongue when he crosses over the threshold of the room, when she seems to bury her face impossibly closer against him.  
  
“I’ve got you, now,” he murmurs to her, voice low and gentle so that she doesn’t startle, and it’s so messed up – him holding her like this when she’s so vulnerable, and worried, and scared – but as he settles himself down on the edge of the bed – _their bed_ – he shifts her in his arms so that he can hold her even tighter against him. “I’m here.”  
  



	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u all so much for the love that u have shown this story and im so so happy that you liked the last chapter and aaaaaah I hope that this starts to makes up for the shit that they've had to deal with so far hehehehe

  
  
He loses all sense of time as he holds her.  
  
Kristoff keeps her in his arms until her body doesn’t tremble anymore, until her sobs have subsided – and a little longer, then. Keeps one of his palms pressed flat against the expanse of her back, over the familiar material of his shirt that hangs so loosely on her slim body; the other wrapped around the back of her head, fingers buried in her hair in order to keep her face nestled close to his skin. He doesn’t move, just keeps himself stoic and steady and still, his body a rock for her to rest wearily against.  
  
Anna’s sat in his lap, but she isn’t straddling him; instead, her slim legs are pressed together, curled up slightly so that her knees are close to her stomach, and her calves drape over his thighs so that her feet can rest against the top of the mattress. Her forehead rests just below his collarbone, face hidden from view, and Kristoff can no longer feel damp tears on his skin.  
  
Her breathing slowly but surely begins to steady, her chest rising and falling almost perfectly in time with his own, and the Captain wonders whether she’s fallen asleep. His fingers twitch absent-mindedly from where they’re buried in her hair, and he carefully runs his flat palm down the back of her head, petting her affectionately.  
  
He loses himself in thought, although he quickly snaps out of it when she lets out a long, deep sigh against his skin – awake, after all. Kristoff tries his very hardest not to frown at her as she places her palms upon either side of his chest and pushes herself away from him. His hand falls from the back of her head and drops loosely down by his side, his fingers brushing against the bed covers, but Anna doesn’t let go of him, doesn’t move to climb out of his lap.  
  
Instead, she tilts her chin and blinks slowly at him, her soft blue eyes trailing over his face.  
  
It’s funny, what difference a few hours can make to a person. It doesn’t feel all that long ago that he was stuttering over his words at the sight of her at dinner, his mouth dry at the sight of her in her dress with her pink cheeks and bright eyes and curved smile; and _now_ –  
  
Well. He had wanted her closer, then – hadn't wanted her across the booth, had wanted her like _this_ , settled in his lap with her hands on his skin. But this isn’t how he envisioned her being close: not with puffy, red eyes and tear-stained cheeks and downturned lips and a stuffy nose, and he feels robbed, in a way; though he knows that it’s ridiculous, knows that she wouldn’t have willingly sought him out like this under any other circumstances, but _still_.  
  
His fingers twitch on the bedsheets, and Kristoff wants to touch her, now; wants to raise his hand from the bed and cup her face, wants to swipe his tumb across the soft skin of her cheek, wants to gently caress her – _always so gently_ – and use his fingers to tell her all of the things that his clumsy, useless tongue _can’t_.  
  
He doesn’t move, though – doesn't think that she’d want him to, anyway.  
  
He feels his chest clench tight – like she’s buried her nails into his skin and _squeezed_ – and Kristoff’s no wordsmith, knows that there’s no great poem he can reel off to her, but he’s a little overwhelmed by her, if he’s honest with himself, and the words fall from his mouth like the idiot he is.  
  
“I’m so proud of you,” he says to her, his voice as soft and gentle as he wishes his fingers could be, and the words surprise him enough that his cheeks tingle beneath her gaze.  
  
Anna smiles a little as she blinks up at him, and she relaxes her hold on his chest so that she can bring the heel of one of her hands up to the tip of her nose. She sniffs, long and hard, and Kristoff feels his heart swell.  
  
“You are?” she asks, curiosity – if not disbelief – in her tone, and Kristoff swallows.  
  
“Of course I am,” he says to her, _smiles_ , too – can't help himself, since he suddenly feels light-headed at the sheer and utter relief that courses through him, now that the adrenaline is slowly dissipating.  
  
She’s here. She’s here, in his arms; she’s safe, and mostly unharmed, and she’s _alive_ ; and if it hadn’t been for her quick-thinking, then he could have still been wallowing away in his fury and self-pity, could have still been _moping_ like the asshole he was, convinced that she’d up and left him back at the hotel, whilst she – whilst _he_ –  
  
He never thought that he’d feel so elated about lipstick, of all things.  
  
“You did good, Anna,” he tells her, “you did _so_ good.”  
  
She smiles at him with watery eyes, smiles at him like she’s _happy_ that he thinks so, and her palm falls from her face, returns to his bare chest, and his mouth relaxes at the feel of her nails dancing over his skin.  
  
“He -” she begins, pauses, and he’s about to open his mouth and tell her that she doesn’t need to explain to him – not now, not yet, not ever, if she’s not ready – but then she starts again, and the protests die down in his throat. “He wanted me to – he wanted _you_ to think that I’d left you,” she says, and her brows furrow as she shifts in his lap. “And I was so –” she looks up to the ceiling, flutters her lashes quickly as if to compose herself before she looks back down to his eyes, “ _god_ , I was just so worried that you’d actually believed that I’d _gone_ , that I would leave you; and I just - I didn’t know what else to do,” she says.  
  
His fingers twitch once more, and he wants to touch her _so badly_ ; thinks it might comfort her, even. “The lipstick,” he says, his own voice barely above a whisper, and he can’t help but smile at the thought of it. “I was - I thought - but fuck, Anna, you were so fucking _clever_.”  
  
She giggles at that – a low, snotty noise – and the sound has him smiling even wider. He watches as her lips part and her jaw softens, and her eyes dance over his face before she looks back at his eyes.  
  
He wonders what she sees there.  
  
“He had a gun,” she tells him, “and I thought it was you, when he knocked on the door. I was _stupid_ , half asleep and kind of tipsy and I just... I thought you’d left your room key, or something.”  
  
Kristoff swallows. Feels guilty.  
  
“And he – I just – it was his _eyes_ ,” she explains, ducks her chin and looks down towards her lap, “he had this, this look in them, like he’d use it if he needed to, and I –”  
  
“Anna,” he says, interrupts, and the sound of her name falling out of his mouth causes her to stop and look back up at him. She pulls in a shaky breath, and he wants to say something; wants to reassure her, wants to calm and settle her, but he doesn’t even know where to start.  
  
He moves his hand a little awkwardly against the sheets, strokes his thumb back and forth as if he’s practicing what he wants to do to _her_. He thinks of how easy it would be, just to lift his hand and cup her jaw. Thinks of how he’s already kind of touching her, anyway, since he still has his hand resting casually against her back, but _fuck_ it’s just – different, isn’t it? To hold her face in a moment like this would be –  
  
“I thought he was going to kill me,” she tells him, and his fist clenches tight against the bedsheet.  
  
Kristoff’s entire body tenses at her words, and his expression hardens as he looks at her.  
  
“ _You_ ,” he says, presses his hand firmer against the small of her back so that he can nudge her closer to his chest to emphasise his point, “are my _wife_ ,” he bites out – and _fuck_ , he knows deep down that he’s being a possessive, crazy _asshole_ , knows that he’s got no right to be like this, not when she didn’t even agree to marry him in the first place, but it doesn’t matter anymore because she’s _his_ – “and so long as I’m breathing, then nobody’s ever going to hurt you again.”  
  
Her lips had parted in surprise when he pulled her closer to him, and she swallows thickly now as she blinks slowly.  
  
“I promise you, Anna – I'll kill anyone who even _thinks_ about trying.”  
  
She doesn’t respond to his words, but she doesn’t look appalled, or horrified, or even scared, she just – continues to look up at him, with those parted lips and those long lashes, and even with all of the evidence of her tears, she’s still the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen, ever _known_. That urge to cup her face with his hand returns, though it’s joined by a deeper desire to inch closer to her, to part his lips, too, and open his mouth; and his hand rises from the mattress, _slowly_ , ever so slowly so that he doesn’t startle her.  
  
He just wants to touch her, that’s all; just wants to feel her smooth skin beneath his callouses and her soft lips against his own –  
  
There’s a familiar knock at the door, and Kristoff instinctively tightens his hold around her back. Anna lets out a sharp, hot breath that brushes against his skin, and his eyes burn into hers as she holds his gaze.  
  
The moment is gone, and he can’t touch her, now.  
  
_Doesn’t think she’d want him to, anyway._  
  
Kristoff clears his throat, and he tries not to look _too_ surprised when Anna leans forward and drops her head against his chest. She presses the side of her face against his warm skin and bumps his chin with the top of her head, and though his cheeks flush, he can’t ignore the door.  
  
“Come in,” he rumbles, and Mattias steps over the threshold of the room just seconds later.  
  
Despite the fact that they have all been awake for _far_ too long, his first mate still looks sharp and alert, and his dark eyes stay focused on Kristoff’s as he speaks.  
  
“Captain,” he greets, formal as always, “we’re ready, whenever you are.”  
  
And that’s the problem, isn’t it? Kristoff is still very much the Captain of this ship, and he _never_ misses his ship setting sail. It’s something that he’s always made a point of being a part of – whether he’s out on the deck with the crew, ready and waiting and making sure that they get moving without any hiccups, or whether he’s locked away in the control room with his hands on the wheel, guiding his ship out to sea.  
  
He's always there.  
  
One of Anna’s flat palms brushes against his skin as she moves it ever so slightly, and he knows it’s not possible to read her mind, but it’s almost like he can hear her thoughts; can feel her preparing herself to push back against him, to climb out of his arms and shuffle out of his lap so that he’s free to move, so that he can stand on his feet and walk out of this room and leave her on her own, even after _only you_ and _I’m here_ and _do you really think I'd do that, to you?_ , and the memories of his words solidify his decision.  
  
The two men look at each other for a long moment – a silent conversation between a Captain and his first mate – and he sees the understanding flicker within Mattias’ eyes when he finally responds, his voice a little hoarse.  
  
“Tell them I’m ready,” Kristoff says.  
  
Mattias straightens his back and pushes out his shoulders before he nods once in understanding. He had seemed a little surprised, but a new, determined look washes over his face as he raises his hand in a salute. “Captain,” he says once more, and then he departs, closing the door behind him.  
  
It’s quiet, for a moment, and then her lips brush against his chest as she speaks.  
  
“Don’t you need to be there?” she asks him, her voice still a little nasally as a result of her heavy cries, and Kristoff lets out a sigh as he slowly lowers his cheek down against the top of her head.  
  
He squeezes his eyes tightly to a close and tries his best to focus on the feel of her hair as it tickles his neck and his chin rather than the guilt that’s eating away at him at the thought of not being there to oversee his men.  
  
He’s not leaving her, he _can’t_ ; and he might be the Captain of this ship, but she’s his _wife_ , and Mattias is more than capable of getting them off to a smooth sail. He wouldn’t even _be_ his first mate, if he wasn’t capable of that.  
  
Still – old habits die hard, and Kristoff finds it challenging to shake the uneasy feeling in his gut, even as the horn sounds loud and clear from the deck above.  
  
“No,” he says, opens his eyes once more as he feels his ship propel forward on the water. “I told you, Anna. I’ve got you.”

.

.

.

Kristoff can’t sleep.  
  
He just can’t get out of his head.  
  
He sighs in irritation, frowns, then pulls the curtains to a close with a little more force than he intended. He had been staring up at the sky for god knows how long, and none of the stars seemed to be able to offer him the answers that he sought.  
  
He’s careful and slow as he slides beneath the sheets – doesn't want to disturb her, not when she’s sleeping so peacefully – and he sighs as he positions himself on his side, so that he’s facing her. Only a slither of moonlight creeps into the room, and whilst it’s enough for him to be able to see the outline of her face, he can’t make out other details, like the freckles on her cheeks or the lines of her lips.  
  
For a while, Kristoff focuses on the sound of her breathing; listens as she inhales, then exhales, slow and steady, just like the waves that carry them. He thinks of today, and of yesterday; thinks of how she had taken away his breath when she arrived for dinner, when she showed off her dress and smiled so brightly at him, thinks of how his heart had fallen to his stomach when she had been taken from him, when he saw her writing on the mirror.  
  
He never really considered _this_ aspect of his ‘marriage’ to her – didn't think that it would hurt, not like this, didn’t think that it would be so hard to keep himself in control. He had been so sure that this could be a mutually beneficial arrangement – that she could make his life easier when it came to negotiations, especially since he was hardly known for being the most patient Captain, and that in return he would provide her with food, and shelter, and safety.  
  
 _What a dumbass._  
  
Elsa had told him that she was beautiful, of course – _she’s young and she’s, she’s pretty and I’m sure she’ll like you, she’s hardly picky_ – and he’d laughed, at the time; dismissed her completely, because why the hell should he care whether she liked him or not?  
  
Well, _fuck him_ , because now he almost wishes that her sister would have been right.  
  
He thinks of earlier, now; thinks of her wide, shining eyes and her soft, parted lips. Thinks of his treacherous hand and how all that he wanted to do was touch her, _hold_ her, just stroke his fingers across her face and test out just how smooth the skin of her cheek really was, because all that he’d ever had so far were ghosts of touches that he only got the confidence to offer when he was half-asleep and she was, too, and –  
  
He didn’t think she’d want him to.  
  
 _I’m not a monster, Anna._  
  
Wasn’t he? Were the fingers he longed to trail over her cheek not the fingers that had so easily pulled the trigger?  
  
 _I want to stay with you, Kristoff._  
  
He can’t help himself.  
  
She’s snoring ever so softly, and Kristoff’s hand comes to rest carefully on her face. He’s mindful enough to keep his touch light, in a barely-there hold – after all, the last thing that he wants to do is to put too much pressure upon her skin, to cause her to jerk await and in the process frighten her half to death by the surprise of his grip.  
  
He feels like he can breathe a little easier, now her skin is underneath his, and he tries to keep his own breathing steady as he oh-so gently traces the line of her cheek with his thumb. He was _right_ , her skin is impossibly soft and smooth beneath his hand, and he wishes that it was bright enough for him to be able to make out the freckles that cover her face, wishes that his lips could join his hand in dancing across them.  
  
“Kristoff?” she whispers, and he freezes immediately at the sound of her voice. His hand goes completely still against her, and his eyes open wide as he stares out her outline from across the bed.  
  
Suddenly, he’s thankful for the darkness; grateful that she is unable to witness the guilty look on his face as his cheeks burn red.  
  
He’s about to drop his hand from her face – feels his skin on fire, now – when her slender fingers wrap around his wrist, effectively holding him firmly to her, and Kristoff’s eyes widen in surprise at the movement.  
  
“Anna,” he says, his voice a pained whisper as he desperately tries to make her understand; and _shit_ , he really should apologise to her, not only for the fact that he’s disturbed her, now, but for even touching her in the first place, for bothering her like the messed up asshole that he was –  
  
“Shh,” she murmurs. She nuzzles her face further into her pillow, the action simultaneously brushing her face against the palm of his hand. “It’s alright,” she tells him, her voice thick with sleep, and Kristoff feels the tension in his body slowly beginning to ease off. “Get some sleep.”  
  
He does as she says, and when he opens his eyes once more, it’s to sunlight in the room, her fingers still wrapped around his wrist, and a sleepy smile on her lips.  
  



	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning for some brief descriptions of dead bodies. specifically the smell. sorry!

  
  
Anna’s not going to feel sorry for herself.  
  
She’s _not_.  
  
She lets out a shaky breath as she grips tightly to the sink counter, and her light blue eyes narrow as she slowly looks over her appearance in the bathroom mirror. Physically, not much about her has changed at all, and she still looks so much like that same innocent, naïve girl who wandered onto this ship with wide-eyes and a heavy heart, but still so full of _hope_.  
  
She’s not that girl anymore, though.  
  
That version of herself is long gone, now; dead and buried in the depth of the ocean beneath her, and although she might look the same, inside, she’s not.  
  
_Sink or swim._  
  
She’ll swim, every time.

.

.

.

“Are you sure about this?” he murmurs, his voice low and soft, and Anna pauses as she turns to look at him.  
  
He’s worried, she thinks – about _her_ , and he’s giving her the opportunity to back out now, before it’s too overwhelming _(if not a little embarrassing)_. She’s starting to notice these small parts of him that she didn’t know were there, before – aspects of this man that she never thought _could_ exist, never mind _would_ , and her breath hitches ever so slightly at the concerned look on his face.  
  
It reminds her of the way that he looked when he found her on his bed, surrounded by items she had stashed in her satchel in preparation of escape. He isn’t fragile, she knows: she’s just not used to him looking at her so tenderly.  
  
Those dark eyes of his glisten with unspoken words, a silent plea as he hovers by the stairway to the upper deck.  
  
 _Tell me. If it’s too much, just tell me._  
  
This is something that she needs to do, though. Literally speaking, she _does_ have a choice; but deep down in her gut, she’s doesn’t think that she does, not really.  
  
Anna made her choice when she decided to stay on this ship. She made her choice when she decided to stay with _him_. And although she doesn’t truly understand the intricate, complicated details of his role as Captain or the weight of responsibility that hangs heavy on his head, she thinks that she’s slowly starting to appreciate it more, now.  
  
Kristoff has made a name for himself on these seas, has established himself as powerful and strong and resourceful. He’s a good leader, a good _Captain_ , and Anna has seen the way that people respect him – not only when they’re at sea. She thinks of dinner in the hotel, recalls the curious eyes that lingered on them, then, and not for the first time, she wonders what they thought when they saw _her_ on his arm.  
  
 _This is the Captain’s new play thing?_  
  
 _No._ She is the Captain’s _wife_ ; and if Anna is to be his wife – in its truest sense – then she needs respect.  
  
She doesn’t want to be known as Kristoff’s weak, young, _useless_ little wife. She wants to be so much more than that; wants to be hard, and strong, and fierce, like he is. She can already imagine what his crew must think of her – _not much_ – and she has a feeling that this could be her first opportunity to prove that she’s not some silly little girl.  
  
Her mind has been made up, and she’s sure that the decision is easy to read on her hardened face. “I’m sure,” she tells him, then tilts her chin defiantly. “I’m ready.”  
  
 _Sink or swim._  
  
Anna has seen dead bodies before – not many, of course, but she has – but those didn’t look anything like _this_. There was no greying skin and morbid expressions, and Kristoff had warned her that the smell wouldn’t be pleasant, but no warning could prepare her for the undeniable stench. Anna grimaces as it wafts through the salty air and meets her nostrils, but she’s not going to back out now – not even if the sight of _him_ fills her with dread.  
  
He’s not alive, not anymore – the Captain made quick work of that, when he shot him – but she’s not sure whether or not she actually finds that comforting. An uneasy feeling works away in the pit of her stomach as her eyes roam over his lifeless face, and for a reason that she can’t explain, there’s a part of her that isn’t convinced that this will be the last time she’ll ever hear of Hans Westergaard.  
  
Anna inhales a shaky breath as she follows Kristoff’s lead and steps towards where the bodies are positioned a few feet apart from one another at the edge of the deck. There’s no denying the fact that they are dead – had she not seen Kristoff kill them with her own eyes, then the stench alone is telling enough – but their wrists and ankles are bound together, not necessarily dissimilar to what they had done to her own.  
  
Her eyes widen at the sight, and she looks over at Kristoff, surprise evident on her features. He shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly at her.  
  
“It’s tradition,” he says, “their souls can’t make it to shore, so long as their bodies are bound.”  
  
The memory of his thick fingers brushing tentatively over her wrists, smoothing over the roughened, reddened skin that served as evidence of the harsh rope causes Anna’s face to harden once more.  
  
She meant it. She’s ready.  
  
The ship still needs to function, and so not all of the crew are present to witness the bodies being thrown overboard, but there are certainly more men watching with uncertain eyes than she had originally expected there to be. She tries her best not think of them – not even Mattias and Kai, who are stood close by – and pushes her shoulders back.  
  
Her cheeks flush slightly at the realisation that she wouldn’t be able to life their dead weights, though she’s relieved when Kristoff doesn’t seem to expect her to. He makes quick work of moving them; hoists their bodies easily into the air – though he keeps them at a distance – and then tosses them haphazardly onto the side of the deck. There’s no evidence of care in his rough movements, and despite knowing what they did, Anna still finds it a little disturbing to see dead bodies handled so carelessly, though Kristoff doesn’t seem to be phased in the slightest.  
  
He nods at her, then, and Anna keeps her head heald high and her lips pressed in a tight, firm line as she makes her way over towards the edge of the deck. Silence surrounds her – not even the gulls squawk from above, almost as if they know – as she comes to stand before the bodies, and _god_ , that smell really is _foul_.  
  
Anna waits for a beat, and then she hears it. “Now,” he tells her, his voice quiet, but firm; and she doesn’t hesitate as she stretches out her arms and _shoves_.  
  
Kristoff steps forward from where he was positioned slightly behind her, and Anna watches as he casually leans over the edge of the deck and peers down into the dark water below, a stern expression on his face. She manages to breathe a little easier, now that she’s done it, but she’s still well aware of the eyes of men upon her, so she places her hands on the edge of the decking – fingers wrapping round the space where their bodies lay, just moments before – and she leans over it, too.  
  
Her brief hesitation meant that she missed the moment that their bodies were submerged into the water, and somehow, that makes it all a little easier, a little less _real_. Anna doesn’t realise that her hands are trembling until the sound of loud, booming cheers and bellowing shouts roar across the deck; and despite herself, she finds her lips quirking at the sound.  
  
She slowly steps backwards – there's no need for her to look down at the sea, no need for her to wonder where the waves will carry them to – and she meets his gaze with wide eyes. The look on his face takes her breath away completely; the intensity of it almost winding her, and – not for the first time – Anna wishes that she knew what he was thinking.  
  
 _You did good, Anna. You did so good._  
  
 _I’m so proud of you._  
  
Her shoulders sag, and she grins. 

.

.

.

For months, all that Anna knew were walls and doors. The walls of her childhood home, though familiar, were a prison of their own, and the walls of the Captain’s quarters were much the same, at first. Isolated and alone, Anna had been trapped; but up here, she doesn’t feel restrained at all. Up here, she feels free, and the vast, open sea that surrounds her from all angles doesn’t overwhelm her as much as it did in those early days on board.  
  
High above the deck, away from the hustle and bustle of the crew, Anna feels like she can finally be herself. Although she can still hear them all as they work – hollering and shouting and laughing between one another – the sounds are distant, and not so distracting. There’s something so peaceful about sitting on the platform of the crow’s nest, about dangling her feet over the edge and feeling the wind in her hair.  
  
“You know, kid,” Kai says from where he sits beside her, “you look like you’re starting to belong here.”  
  
Anna ducks her head at his words, though she doesn’t attempt to fight the smile that lights up her face. “Yeah?” she asks, and Kai nods his head, though he continues to look straight ahead.  
  
She thinks that the Captain isn’t the only one who’s warming up to her, nowadays.  
  
A comfortable silence falls upon them once more, and Kai surprises her when he speaks once more.  
  
“I was only a boy myself, when I first came to sea,” he says, and his eyes roam over the deck below. “Sixteen years old. And the Captain – well, he’d just had his first birthday, and hadn’t long since started to walk.”  
  
Anna’s interest piques at the mention of Kristoff, and though she tries her best to appear unaffected, her mind conjures up an image of a young boy with a mop of white hair and a toothless grin toddling round the deck. “Oh?” she says, noncommittal, and Kai huffs out a laugh.  
  
“Mmhmm,” he says. “My parents – well, they weren’t around, and I spent most of my teens going in and out of foster homes, toing and froing. So, when I saw an advertisement to join the crew, I thought – well, _why not_? And then I saw the huge ships and the sails, and all I could think of was the promise of adventure that they brought.”  
  
Anna smiles at him. She can’t relate – she had felt nothing short of overwhelmed and terrified at the sight of the ships, that first day at the dock. Still, she can imagine how it would feel, to someone like Kai; to someone who had opted for this life, in search of something better than what they had.  
  
He snorts, then. “Little did I know that I'd spend most of my time chasing round after a toddler.”  
  
Anna can’t help but laugh at the image of a younger, slimmer Kai running around the deck behind Kristoff. “Sounds like he kept you busy,” she says warmly.  
  
“Oh, he did,” Kai nods. “His ma – well, she did her best to keep him entertained and out of trouble, but he was a real handful. Sneaky, too – especially once he learned how to climb the ropes.”  
  
Kai smiles fondly at the memory, and it’s so tempting, what he’s laid out for her; but a small part of her thinks that it’s wrong, somehow, to seek the information out from him rather than Kristoff. She wants to know, and it’s almost painful to bite her tongue, but she doesn’t want to know like _this_.  
  
It’s Kristoff’s story to tell, and she wants him to share it with her.  
  
“I never understood, back then,” he continues, and he tilts his head back up so that he can look out to sea, “what it was that he found so... _appealing_. About being up here.”  
  
Anna begins to wonder, and she thinks that she knows where Kai is going with this. Thinks that she understands the message that he’s giving to her.  
  
She tilts her face towards the sun and closes her eyes as the heat radiates over her skin whilst silence settles between the two once again. _I understand_ , she wants to say, but the words don’t come; so she wills them out into the air, instead, wonders if _he’ll_ hear them, wherever he is now.  
  
“You seem like a nice girl, Anna,” Kai says, and though her cheeks flush at the compliment – _who would have thought?_ – she doesn’t open her eyes. “He just needs a bit of patience.”  
  
As luck would have it, Anna has a lot of time. 

.

.

.

The sound of metal clanging against metal vibrates through her ears, and Anna lets out a loud, frustrated grunt as Kristoff effortlessly blocks her attack. _Again._  
  
He’s bent at the knees, crouched low enough so that he’s practically eye level with her as he holds his large sword at arm's length in front of his face. It’s clashed against her own, and even though half of his face is distorted from view as a result of the metal, she still clocks the sight of his triumphant, upturned lips and frowns.  
  
 _God_ , she really would love to wipe that stupid, smug smirk from his face.  
  
“Better,” he grins – flashes his teeth and everything – and there’s this slightly twinkle in his honey coloured eyes that tells her that he really does mean it.  
  
Anna knows it herself to be true. Despite the fact that Kristoff still manages to constantly block her advances, she knows that she’s getting much better at this, moving faster and easier with the sword. She holds it with natural ease, now, and swings it with care as her skill advances, and she knows that her progress is mostly as a result of him pushing her so hard.  
  
Her heart rate increases just a touch at the praise, though her up-turned lips fall as soon as he opens his mouth again. “But you’re still too slow.”  
  
“ _Kristoff_ ,” she huffs, and she frowns harshly at him as she blows her bangs out of her eyes and takes several steps backwards. Her hands fall to her sides, the blade of the sword pointing down towards the floor, and he honest-to-god _laughs_ at her.  
  
Despite how much she enjoys the sound, she still doesn’t think that this is funny.  
  
“It’s no fun if you’re just going to beat me every time!”  
  
Over the last couple of days, Kristoff has really started to up the ante on her training. He has her meet him here every day, and she’s started to toy with the idea that perhaps it’s for his own peace of mind as much as it is for hers.  
  
He feels guilty, about what happened – she's sure that he does, can see it in his eyes and his downturned mouth and the way that he looks at her, sometimes. There’s nothing that could have been done differently, though – well, apart from her opening the _goddamned_ door in the first place, but she’s refusing to beat herself up about that anymore – because Hans had a gun, and there’s no doubt in her mind that he would have used it, had he felt the need to.  
  
He rolls his eyes at her comment, though his own body relaxes slightly, too. Kristoff’s broad shoulders slump as he heaves out a panted breath – _she really is quicker, now, and she’s putting him through his paces as much as she can_ – and his arms drop by his sides, much like her own.  
  
It’s difficult _not_ to notice his strong arms and defined chest – not when he’s wearing a short-sleeved white tee shirt that’s damp from sweat – but Anna tries her hardest to fight the heat that bubbles within her core at the sight, tries her hardest to fight the growing attraction that she feels towards him. He’s already got a shit-eating grin on his face from the fact that he won, _again_ : the last thing that he needs is even more of an ego-boost from her ogling him.  
  
“If it’s no fun when _I’m_ the one who’s beating you, then think of how much fun it won’t be the next time it’s someone else that corners you,” he says to her, and though the warning that falls from his lips is almost light, it still catches her off guard.  
  
 _Next time_.  
  
He says it like he’s so certain that there will be.  
  
As if to emphasise his nonchalance at the statement, Kristoff flicks his wrist and sends his sword spinning into the air. It moves quickly from the skill of his practiced hand, and _god_ would she love for it to fall, for him to miss it, for his large hand just to skim the handle so that it would fall to the floor with a loud _clang_ , and she’d be the one smirking, then, not him –  
  
He catches it. Of course he does.  
  
Anna rolls her eyes at him. “You say that like you’re so sure that I'm going to mess up,” she says, completely ignoring of his showing off and focusing instead on his comment.  
  
The smirk on his lips falls, and his expression relaxes slightly as he blinks at her. He looks a little confused, and she tries not to think about the way in which her heart melts a little at the sight. “What do you mean?”  
  
“ _Next time_ ,” Anna grunts in a deep voice, and Kristoff pulls a face at her attempt of an impression of him. Her shoulders sag slightly as she sighs. “I don’t know, it’s just – it's like you’re so sure that it’s going to happen.”  
  
Kristoff’s arms fall down by his sides as he continues to regard her. “Anna - there _will_ be a next time,” he tells her, and her chest tightens at his direct words. “That’s not – that won’t be you messing up. It’s just... it’s the way that things work, out here. The way that life at sea goes.” He sighs, and his expression softens. “Whether you like it or not, you’re the wife to the Captain of this ship. So, trust me: someone, at some point, _will_ try and come for you.”  
  
She should really focus on his warning, but –  
  
 _Whether you like it or not._  
  
Huh. How about that: maybe she’s not being quite as obvious as she thought.  
  
She forgets, sometimes, about how little she knows when it comes to the brutality and ruthlessness of life at sea. What happened with Hans and Sara is her worst nightmare, and a few weeks ago, she would have never imagined that anything like that could happen. The more that she learns about it, though, the more that she thinks that _actually_ , what happened to her wasn’t exactly something out of the ordinary.  
  
At least not in Kristoff’s world.  
  
“And what,” she asks as she narrows her eyes, “you think I'll be capable, on my own?”  
  
It’s a test. She wants to be able to handle herself in his world, wants him to trust her enough to do so; but she’s not sure where he’s actually going with all of this training, really. They haven’t discussed it yet, and there’s a part of her that wonders whether he wants her to be independent, able to handle herself, or whether he just wants her to be able to do the bare minimum to stall an attacker until he can make his way to her and save the day.  
  
“That’s the plan,” he says. There’s no hesitation in his response, and he says it so _simply_ – like it’s the most natural, normal, _sensible_ answer – that Anna’s heart actually _hurts_.  
  
She bites down on her bottom lip in an attempt to hide her smile, but she sees the playful glint return to his eyes, and she knows that she’s done for. She’s given up on feeling guilty about the way that she feels towards him – after all, what’s a girl to do, when he looks at her like _that_?  
  
“So,” he says, smirks again as he raises his sword, “rematch?”  
  



	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, when I first started this story, it was when all of this... _stuff_ with COVID-19 was still kind of contained in China (not that that makes it any better, obviously, it was just kind of - idek, unimaginable, really?), but now obviously a LOT has changed and I'm going to make a few amendments to this story as a result. When I started it, I just really needed a reason for there to be 'pirates' (lol) in a way that could make some kind of sense in a modern au, which was how I got onto thinking about vaccines/cures, and it didn't make sense that just a pandemic could have everyone locked up and inside, scared to leave the house, etc...
> 
> ...buuuuuut now that's obviously very much the case, so, you know. I don't really have much use for there being zombies, even in the background, because I was never really going to address them since I don't really like writing action scenes and tbh I'm just here for the Kristanna lmao. 
> 
> I'm pretty sure that if you're reading this then you feel the same, and I don't think anyone actually particularly cares about that aspect of the story but I didn't want to just, like, get rid of it and not say anything at all hahaha. So I'm slowly going to sieve through the older chapters and make some edits as and when I can, but yeah - from here on out, it was just an awful virus that wiped out a lot of the population; although Anna was still waiting at home for the government (who just abandoned everyone) to kind of pull something out of the bag, and that's how we got here.
> 
> ANYWAY sorry for the beast of the note I just wanted to keep you all updated and not just change the story halfway through without saying anything at all. Hope that makes sense!

Kristoff hasn’t been sleeping well, and it’s finally starting to take its toll on him. 

It isn’t as though he’s ever needed an awful lot of sleep – he’s used to being busy on the ship, used to late nights and early mornings, and as long as he gets in at least a good five hours or so, then he usually functions fine. Four hours, and he gets by (just maybe a little grumpier than usual). But therein lies the issue: he hasn’t been getting a couple of hours of solid, undisturbed sleep – not for the past twenty nights. 

Not since Anna. 

At first, he had put it down to the fact that he wasn’t used to having to be aware of someone else’s personal space like this – especially not in his own bed. He used a cushion to combat the issue in the hopes that it would ease his mind and help him sleep more efficiently, and he’d been confident that it would work (and also pleased with himself for coming up with a solution so quickly). After all, it seemed simple enough: put a cushion down in the middle of the med, close his eyes and go to sleep, and if he did happen to roll over in his sleep, then it would be the cushion that he’d roll into, _not_ Anna. 

Turns out that that’s not the issue, though. 

“You look like shit, Captain,” Mattias says. He’s joking, but he’s not, and Kristoff frowns at him from across his desk. 

“Fuck you,” he responds, though his first mate chuckles, unphased. 

“What’s the matter?” he teases, and there’s a seemingly knowing grin spread across his face, “pretty wife keeping you up all night?” 

If there’s anyone that Kristoff can talk to about this – about _her –_ it's Mattias. He can’t, though; not when he doesn’t understand the issue entirely himself. 

A heavy sigh escapes his lips, and Kristoff rubs his hands over his face. He needs to come up with a solution, and _fast –_ the last thing he needs is any of the crew picking up on the fact that he’s more exhausted than usual. 

“Not in the way that you think,” Kristoff admits, exasperation evident in his tone, and he can tell that Mattias is surprised by the admission. His first mate was probably expecting a snarky comment; friendly, familiar banter, and his dark eyes widen slightly at the response. “Don’t worry about it,” Kristoff dismisses, “I’m dealing with it. Now – are we going to sort out this next port, or what?” 

Kristoff had known a long time ago that any woman who he eventually committed himself to was going to be a target. A weapon – one that could, and would, be used against him. His father had warned him as much from being a young man, and he’d seen it time and time again as he grew up; saw his mother taken when he was fourteen, got there just in time, before the bastard could slit his throat. 

That’s why she’s not here, now. That’s why she’s _away._

He thought that this would be different, though. When Elsa had suggested he marry her sister, the wheels in his head had started turning, and he’d convinced himself that it could work, that it would spare him the pain and the worry. If they had a mutual agreement, then he’d feel better about it all – if he didn’t care about her, then he wouldn’t have to worry. 

He wasn’t expecting _her,_ though. 

The worry had seeped in after a couple of days, but the nightmares didn’t come until after the first incident in the library, after he’d had his first taste of losing her. Now, they seem to be getting worse with each passing night. The consequences of what could happen to her if he isn’t careful aren’t worth thinking about – 

– only he can’t fucking _stop_ thinking about them. 

He can’t shake this feeling that someone is going to sail right up to them and pry her away from the ship right under his nose. Rationally, he knows that he’s being paranoid; and it’s easier to push these kinds of intrusive thoughts away during the daylight, when he’s preoccupied with an endless list of jobs that need completing and men who need dealing with, so, they naturally come to him when he’s supposed to be asleep. 

It’s funny, really, how his imagination works. Maybe his brain is too fucking exhausted to conjure up any new images, but he recognises the scenes so easily, since they’re exactly the same nightmares that he used to have about his mother – only this time, it’s Anna. 

And he’s always too late. 

She shrieks, and the sound wakes them both. She has nightmares, too. 

“Kristoff,” she gasps out, her breaths quick pants, and he grunts in acknowledgement, since he doesn’t think that he can trust himself to speak, to say anything reassuring or worthwhile. Her hands blindly reach out over the vast space in between them, and she pats the mattress a few times before she finally finds his shoulder. She inhales a shaky breath, then speaks again. “Can you – will you –” he can’t see her face in the darkness, but he can hear the struggle in her voice, “will you hold me?” 

The lack of sleep is sending him delirious. 

There’s no other reason why he agrees so easily, why he doesn’t hesitate to drape his arm around her and pull her close to his chest. She’s wearing a long nightdress, and he feels a little awkward as his palm hovers over the expanse of her back - he’s never held anyone like this, before, doesn’t know whether he’s doing it right – but she sighs almost _happily,_ nuzzles her face into his pillow so that the tip of her nose brushes against his throat. 

Kristoff hasn’t been sleeping well, but tonight, he sleeps soundly. 

. 

. 

. 

Anna has a way of making him feel like he’s blind, sometimes; though he doesn’t think that she realises that. It’s just the way that she says things every now and then – passing comments, or questions, always so simple and innocent, but they make him feel like he’s been seeing the world all wrong, all this time. 

It reminds him of how little he knows, and makes him wonder how on earth he ended up _here,_ responsible for a ship and a crew of this size when he can’t even see what’s so screamingly obvious before him. 

“Yelena,” he says as he opens the door to the medical room. “I need to speak to you about something.” 

The older woman sighs dramatically as she looks up at him from underneath her glasses. She’s resting in the armchair, a mug of tea in one hand, a book in the other; and she doesn’t exactly look thrilled to see him. 

“I’m a little busy right now, Captain,” she says, and she shakes the novel in her hands for emphasis. “Tell Anna that I’ll make her a broth. It should work fine as a temporary fix, and I’ll discuss some more effective forms of contraception with her in the morning.” 

He’s pretty sure that the horror he feels is evident on his face. “What?” he balks, and _christ_ _,_ what is it with this woman and her obsession with contraception? “No, that’s not –” 

“Captain, really, if you’re that urgent –” 

“I’m not sleeping with Anna!” he cuts her off, voice a little louder than he intended it to be, and he feels his cheeks burn crimson as Yelena cocks a brow at him. He’s conscious that someone could have easily heard him, since he’s lingering in the doorway, and he leans his torso backwards so that he can look both way down the corridor. Thankfully, it’s deserted. 

“Oh,” she says casually, and she places the novel face-down on the armrest. “Well, why didn’t you say so?” He rolls his eyes as she sits up a little straighter in the chair, her eyes narrowing as she continues to look over at him. “Well, what is it that you want, then?” 

The blonde huffs out a breath, and his eyes dance around the room. It’s not exactly huge, by any means, but he thinks that it’s big enough; and besides, there are other things that they can do, other ways to get around the issue. 

“ _Yelena is the only person who’s medically trained on the ship_ ?” Anna had asked , her tone chipper and genuinely curious . “ _So, what happens if she gets sick, or if more than one person is injured_?” 

Kristoff swallows and tries his best to keep his tone casual. “Have you ever thought about training someone?” 

.

.

.

Kristoff knows that he’s not a saint, that he’s not the world’s most patient man, so he never thought that he would find any enjoyment in teaching anyone anything. It comes as a surprise to him that it’s almost _fun,_ training Anna; and he knows himself that he’s smiling and laughing more than he has in – well, in a long time. 

In his nightmares, he’s always too late. 

He _has_ to make sure that she can handle herself. 

“No sword fighting today?” she asks him as they walk side-by-side through the winding passages of the ship, and Kristoff smirks as he glances down at her. He’s had to slow his usual pace ever so slightly so that she can keep up, and he takes the opportunity to rake his eyes over her. 

“No,” he says, “you’re not dressed for it.” 

He’s teasing her – though she really _isn’t_ dressed for it, not in that purple dress that grazes her knees, even if she is wearing tights – since he never intended on having them practice today, anyway. She’s coming on leaps and bounds with the sword, but there’s so much more that he has to teach her, so much more that he has to show her. 

He needs to _know_ that she can handle herself, in all ways. 

She looks a little embarrassed as she glances down at her dress, and Kristoff keeps his eyes on her as they walk. “I didn’t think – I can always go and change,” she tells him as she blinks up at him, but he shakes his head. 

“Nah,” he says, “I wanted to show you something else, anyway.” 

Anna narrows her eyes slightly, and he doesn’t miss the way that her lips curve upwards into a smirk as she regards him. She nudges her shoulder against the middle of his bicep – playful, he thinks, and although his eyes widen in surprise at the contact, he quickly corrects himself with a smirk of his own. He nudges her back as gently as he can with his arm – thinks that’s what she wants, in return – and the gesture elicits a giggle from her. 

He’s not the only one smiling and laughing more, these days, though he’s not going to let himself get carried away on thoughts of _why._

“Wow,” Anna gasps when they finally reach the control room, her eyes wide and lips parted, and Kristoff tries his best not to look too pleased with himself. 

It’s an impressive sight, he knows. The room is circular and lined with windows, allowing whoever is in it to see out to sea from every angle. Blinking screens and sensors fill out the majority of it, too – equipment that allows him, and anyone else who understands it, to see any vessels for miles – and right in the centre of the room sits the tall, wooden wheel, perched on a platform so that whoever is steering can stand straight. 

Anna’s distracted by the view. It’s not as though he can blame her, really – it _is_ magnificent, and he has fond memories of his younger self pressed up against the glass, wide eyes watching, drinking it all in. 

They don’t have long here until the next man arrives on shift, though, and Kristoff really does want to at least show her something useful today. His fingers twitch from where his hands rest limply by his sides, and he wants to reach out to her, wants to cup her small hand in his and tug her gently along. He’s starting to think that she might let him, now, thinks that maybe she would even _want_ him to – 

– but he remembers what he said to her, that very first night. Remembers what he promised. 

_I don’t expect anything – anything_ physical _from you._

He’s not going to do it. _Can’t,_ no matter how much he longs to, no matter how much he thinks that she wouldn’t mind. 

“Hey,” he says instead, beckons her with his words, and Anna smiles softly as she looks over her shoulder at him. The glass that surrounds this space makes the room a suntrap, and it catches him off guard, the way that it illuminates her red hair. “I told you, I want to show you something.” 

She follows him willingly, though she looks a little surprised when he gestures to the wheel. 

“I - _me_?” she asks. 

Kristoff chuckles, shrugs his shoulders casually. “Why not you?” he responds, and Anna regards him thoughtfully for a moment before she tentatively steps closer towards it. 

“Alright,” she says, “so - what do I do?” 

He chuckles again, steps a little closer behind her, though he’s suddenly aware of just how _small_ she is, and the lasts thing that he wants to do is overwhelm her. “Well,” he says with a smirk, “you have to hold it, first.” 

It’s her turn to giggle, now. “I know that,” she sasses, and he can practically _hear_ her roll her eyes at him. “But where?” 

“You can’t really do it wrong, Anna, any of the handles are –” 

“Show me.” 

The command surprises him, all soft and gentle and tentative, and Kristoff looks down at her with wide eyes and a slack jaw. She turns her head over her shoulder and blinks expectantly up at him, and Kristoff shakes his head in an attempt to snap himself out of it. 

He thinks that he knows what she’s asking of him, so he shuffles closer towards her – slow enough that she can let him know if he’s read it all wrong, so that she can duck or move or even widen her eyes – but she stays still whilst she waits, and he tries not to think of how close she is, now; of how it felt when he held her two nights ago. 

Anna holds her hands in mid-air, and Kristoff takes them in his own and maneuvers their joint hands over two of the wooden handles of the wheel. He breathes a little easier when she looks away from him and faces forward once more, and after a few seconds, he finds himself relaxing behind her. 

He puts a little more pressure on her hands so that he can turn the wheel, and Anna little surprised laugh escapes her lips. “Woah,” she says, “it’s heavier than I thought it would be.” 

He chuckles, tries not to stutter when she presses the top of her back against the middle of his chest. “Yeah,” he agrees, his eyes flickering down towards her, “it - uh. Takes some getting used to, I guess.” 

“So, why’s nobody here, steering it?” 

“We’ve got an auto-steer mechanism,” he explains, “kind of like auto-pilot, on a plane? All the equipment –” he tilts his chin towards the machinery, and she turns her head to follow the movement. “- that helps. We still have someone come up here, though. The men who are trained on it take it in shifts.” 

Anna purses her lips and looks thoughtfully at the machines. “Huh,” he says, “I guess there’s a lot that I still don’t know about the ship, isn’t there?” she asks, then tilts her chin so that she can look up at him. 

Kristoff shrugs his shoulders and tries his best not to think about how close she is, about how it feels, having her hands under his own; about how long her lashes look, about her parted lips and – 

“I told you that I’d teach you, didn’t I?” he asks, his voice low, and Anna smiles softly at that. 

“You did,” she nods, and he doesn’t miss the way that her light eyes flicker down and linger on his mouth, or the way that she leans her back a little further into his chest. He watches her carefully and feels his mouth go dry under her heated gaze. “Kristoff,” she murmurs, her voice quieter than before, “can I –” 

“Captain,” Oaken’s familiar voice booms across the control room, and Kristoff can’t help but let out a disappointed groan. He ducks his head and closes his eyes – his face hanging close to her shoulder, like he could just bury himself in the space there – and a small giggle escapes her lips. 

Kristoff drops his hands from the wheel – misses the warmth of her skin under his instantly – and takes a step backwards, putting some more distance between them as he turns around to look at the intruder. 

He tries his hardest not to scowl. 

“I’m sorry,” the redhead says as he approaches, though he doesn’t sound sorry at all. “I didn’t realise that you had company.” 

Kristoff shakes his head. “It’s fine,” he says, and he hopes that he doesn’t sound too disappointed. “I - ah, I was just showing Anna how the controls work.” 

Anna turns round then, too, her cheeks a little pink, and she cocks a brow as she gazes up at him. Silence falls between the three of them, and Kristoff isn’t sure what it is that she’s waiting for, until – 

“Oh!” he says, “oh, right. Of course. Uh, Anna, this is Oaken,” he explains as he gestures over to the tall man. “He’s one of the men that I was telling you about.” 

She smiles broadly at him, and Kristoff’s shoulders sag slightly when she turns to face the other man. “Pleasure to meet you, Oaken,” she smiles, and he watches as she steps away from his side and over towards Oaken, shakes his hand and everything. 

The moment is well and truly gone, but Kristoff can’t help but wish that he at least knew what it was that she was going to ask him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't kill me pls hehe 
> 
> if you haven't already worked it out by now, Kristoff is absolutely NOT going to make the first move. It's something that Anna's going to have to figure out and take the lead on. He might be the Captain, but she's the one who's really in control here, and that was just something that was always going to an important aspect of this story for what I (think) are obvious reasons.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, um, this one is kind of a long one, but I tried my best to keep it as concise as I could whilst also answering ur questions about Kristoff's past. I'm hoping that it clears most things up, and anything remaining that's vague/untouched is kind of just, on purpose. For now.

“Well, then,” Kristoff says as the men step out onto the decking, “at least that’s settled. Norway, it is.” 

It’s a beautiful day – the first one of April – and there’s not a cloud in the sky. The waves are smooth and steady, carrying the ship at a pleasant pace, and Kristoff’s relieved at how lucky they’ve been with the weather recently. If it keeps up, then they’ll make it to their next port in no time, which means they’ll be able to update their stock levels quicker. 

He squints as the two of them walk side-by-side into the sunlight, and his narrowed eyes roam around the open space in search of a flash of familiar auburn hair. 

“Your mother will be happy,” Mattias grins. Kristoff grunts – a little distracted – and his first mate lets out a hearty laugh, as though he knows exactly what – or who – is on his mind. “And not just to see _you,_ either.” 

He spots her, then; high above the deck, her bare legs dangling over the platform of the crow’s nest, and it’s not even like he can actually _see_ anything from down here, but heat still creeps up into his cheeks at the thought of her bare skin. 

There’s someone sat beside her – Kai, he thinks, though it’s near enough impossible to tell from his pants and boots alone – and Kristoff comes to a halt so that he can crane his neck back and look up at her. He rolls the sleeves of his loose, navy shirt up to his elbows and crosses his arms over his chest. 

“Tell me about it,” he says with a sigh, and his eyes remain locked on her as she swings her legs back and forth, unknowing of his watching. It’s nice, he thinks, to see her like this; just to take a moment to see how she is when she’s around people other than him. 

“Have you spoken to her about it?” Mattias asks, and Kristoff glances quickly in his direction. 

“My ma?” he responds with a frown, and he catches Mattias roll his eyes and smirk before he looks back up at the crow’s nest. 

She’s peering over the bottom railing, now, and he doesn’t have to be able to make out her face to know she’ll be grinning. 

“No,” his first mate says, then follows his gaze. “ _Anna_.” 

Kristoff sighs once more. “Not yet,” he admits, “though, now that it’s sorted, I don’t think that I’ve got much choice.” 

“Yeah,” Mattias agrees with a nod of his head. “Me neither.” 

. 

. 

. 

“Captain,” Kai greets when Kristoff reaches the top of the rigging. 

He hovers with his feet on the rope for a moment as he regards the space before him. There’s probably enough room for the three of them, if they huddled in close together, but the older man is already moving to stand, and Kristoff really does want to talk to her. 

“Kai,” he responds as he flattens his hands against the floor of the platform and easily hops up onto it. The two men straighten at the same time, and Kai tilts his chin back slightly so that he can meet his eyes. “Mind if I have a minute with my wife?” 

Kai smirks as he moves to shuffle past Kristoff. “She’s all yours, Captain,” he says, and then he’s gone. 

Kristoff makes quick work of settling himself down beside her. It hasn’t been that long since they were last perched up here together, yet it feels as though so much has changed between them since. He holds her in the night, now – thinks that they both sleep better because of it – and as such, being close to her doesn’t feel as awkward. 

So, he doesn’t think anything of it as he shuffles to sit. He mimics her position by sliding his thighs beneath the lower part of the protective railing so that his legs can dangle over the edge, too, and he leans back on his hands so that his pinky fingers is near enough pressed up against hers. 

She grins brightly at him. 

“Hi,” she greets, and he finds himself smiling, too. 

“Hey,” he responds, “how did it go?” 

Anna shrugs her shoulders. “Okay, I guess,” she tells him, “but I’m still not convinced she likes me all that much.” 

Yelena had been surprised with his suggestion that she train Anna, but the older woman had quickly agreed that it was wise to pass on her medical knowledge to someone. _Better her than one of you idiots,_ she had told him, though Kristoff had quickly brushed her off. 

“Don’t worry about her. I don’t think she likes anyone, really,” he says, and Anna smiles. He almost asks her if the older woman has been hounding her about contraception, too, but he thinks better of it and closes his mouth. 

“What about you?” Anna says, and Kristoff tilts his head at her, confused. “Your strategy meeting,” she explains, “how did it go?” 

His eyes widen in understanding. “Oh - yeah, that. It was – fine. I guess,” he tells her. He’s never explained anything like this to someone else before, and it surprises him that she cares enough to ask, though he supposes she could just be being polite. “We managed to sort out most the logistics. So, our next stop will be Norway.” 

He watches her closely for her reaction – curious as to whether anyone, Kai specifically, has said anything to her – but she just smiles her usual smile at him, and she doesn’t seem necessarily phased by the reveal. “That sounds fun,” she grins, and Kristoff shakes his head. 

“Don’t go getting ideas,” he says in response to the mischievous look on her face, “though we will be there for a few days. It’s - uh.” _Spit it out, jackass._ “It’s where I’m from, actually.” 

Now, she’s interested. “Oh?” she asks him, and he tries to fight a smile at the change in her tone as he tilts his face towards the sun. “I didn’t know.” 

“Where did you think I was from?” he retorts, and he can’t help but smile, now, although he keeps his eyes closed and relishes in the way the sun warms his face. His nose will be red by the time that they get down, no doubt, but he doesn’t mind so much – it feels good, in a way, to not have to worry about winter slowing them down anymore. 

“I don’t know,” she repeats, “I guess I never really thought about it before. I thought you were just – born at sea, or something. Like, you didn’t belong to a country, or... whatever. I don’t know if I'm making any sense,” she says, a hint of laughter in her tone as his smile grows wider. 

He opens his eyes once she’s finished and finds her watching him. “That’s me,” he agrees, “Kristoff Bjorgman, of nowhere in particular.” 

She laughs at that and turns away from his gaze to look out at the sea. “Born with a skull and crossbones tattoo and everything,” she adds, and he rolls his eyes at that. “First words: aye, aye.” 

“Shut up,” he grins, though there’s laughter in his voice now, too, and he briefly gives into the pull he feels towards her and nudges his shoulder against hers. Anna smiles wickedly at the contact and blinks over at him again. “Anyway,” he continues, “we’ll make port there, and we can have a breather whilst we re-stock. Just for a few days, before we make out next move. We should be there by the fifth.” 

There’s a strange look on her face, then, and her brows furrow a little. “The fifth?” she asks, “of - of April?” 

He nods his head. “Yeah,” he confirms, and feels like a dick since he didn’t even consider the fact that Anna probably doesn’t even know what day of the week it is, never mind the month. “Today’s the first,” he adds. 

“Gosh,” she murmurs, and looks away from him again, her eyes roaming over the open space of the deck below as she leans forwards ever so slightly. She’s quiet for a moment, and then, “it’s my birthday, on the eighth.” 

Kristoff’s brows raise ever so slightly in surprise. “Oh,” he grunts, “nineteen, huh?” 

She rolls her eyes and smirks at him. “ _Wow,”_ she breathes dramatically, flutters those ridiculously long lashes at him and everything, “you _remembered.”_

The blonde shakes his head at her teasing, his hair flying around as he moves. “What, you think I’d forget how old my wife is?” he asks her, and she shrugs her shoulders nonchalantly. 

The eighth. That’s soon. One week, exactly. He tucks away the information and makes sure to keep a mental note of it. He doesn’t have the slightest clue about what he’s going to _do_ with it, just yet, but he’ll think of something along the way. 

“So,” she says, casually changing the subject, “Norway. What’s it like?” 

Kristoff shrugs. “Nice, I guess,” he tells her, and Anna lets out a tinkling laugh. 

“Wow. You’re really selling it to me,” she sasses, and he nudges her with his shoulder again. 

It’s so easy, now, the way that conversation flows between the two of them, and Kristoff no longer gets the overwhelming feeling that she can’t stand to be around him. He wouldn’t blame her, really; after all, it’s still early days in their – _friendship? relationship? whatever-this-is-ship_ – and he wasn’t expecting _this,_ so he’s sure that she definitely wasn’t. 

There’s something about the way that she looks at him – this twinkle that she gets in her eyes, and the way that her smiles curves, kind of knowingly but also kind of shy. Other little things, too, like the way she giggles or drops her eyes to her lap before she blinks back up at him, or the way that she buries her face in the crook of his neck and inhales so deeply when he holds her in his arms in the darkness of their room that has him thinking that there might be something _real_ growing between them, despite the ridiculousness of their situation. 

“You’ll see in a few days,” he says, purposely vague. He doesn’t want to over-sell it, not sure whether she’ll be impressed or not. “I’ll show you.” 

His smirking lips fall when her eyes soften a touch at his words, and Kristoff feels his heart rate increase at the gentle way in which she drinks him in. “I’d like that,” she blinks, smiles at him, too, and he doesn’t miss the way that her pinky finger brushes against his own from where their hands rest so close together on the floor of the platform. 

The surprise contact has him glancing down at their hands, and he tries not to think so much about how tiny she is compared to him. It’s something that he’s been aware of since the second he laid eyes upon her, but it feels _different,_ now; causes a flame to lick inside of him that he can’t put out, and he doesn’t want to think about what that means. 

“And - and my ma, she, ah, she’ll show you around too, I’m sure,” he blurts out, well and truly stutters over his words. He feels ridiculous – it’s not the way that he wanted to tell her, really, but she’s got him all hot and bothered and all she’s done is brush her fucking pinky finger against him, so. 

“Your – you – I didn’t, ah,” she starts, equally flustered, and he glances up to see the genuine surprise on her dainty features. “I didn’t know. I mean, I knew you had a mom, obviously; everyone has a – but I didn’t think – well, I didn’t realise that –” 

Kristoff leans further back on his palms, and a soft, playful smile creeps onto his face as he watches Anna struggle over her words. It’s not fair, really, to watch her suffer like this; but he knows full well how much of a disaster he’s been around her recently, so he can’t help but lap it up a little now that it’s the other way round. 

He can only imagine how much of a sap he must look, smiling at her like this, because she stops mid-sentence and blushes at him. “Sorry,” she laughs awkwardly, but he quickly shakes his head, tries to snap himself out of it. 

“It’s fine,” he tells her, “I never – I never told you about her, before. But – yeah. She lives there, now.” 

Anna seems to relax again, and she looks at him curiously. “How come?” she asks, and the question is so soft and genuinely curious and so, so _innocent_ that he almost doesn’t want to tell her. 

He has to, though. He can’t just throw her in the deep end when he introduces them in a few days time. 

“I sent her there,” he admits, and he looks out at the open sea, then – doesn't think he can handle seeing the look on her face, to whatever she makes of that comment. “It’s, ah, a long story, really; and I don’t know if you want me to –” 

Her small hand covers his, then, and the surprise contact of her skin against his is enough to cut him off. His head snaps round towards her, and she smiles gently at him. “I do,” she says, and he suddenly wants to know when _this_ happened, when she started being able to read him so easily, “I mean – if you want to tell me. Because you don’t have to, if – if you don’t want. Obviously.” 

Kristoff’s dark eyes drift down to their joined hands, and he swallows thickly before he starts. 

_Best just to get it over with,_ he thinks. 

“Well,” he starts, “I guess I didn’t have much choice. My dad – well, he got killed, two years ago now. And when he was... _gone,_ the responsibility of being Captain kind of got passed down to me.” 

He’s quiet, for a moment, and Anna takes advantage of the silence. “I’m sorry about your dad,” she breathes, her voice so soft that he actually believes her, “and that must have been – awful. Suddenly having all that responsibility, when you had only just lost him.” 

He nods, his eyes still cast downwards, though he’s not looking at anything in particular, now. “Yeah,” he sighs, “it - ah. Wasn’t great, I suppose.” 

“Can women not – I mean, is it only men, who can be Captain’s?” she asks him after a thoughtful pause, and Kristoff shakes his head. 

“No,” he says, “’course not. But my dad – well.” 

He isn’t sure how to say what he wants to say, and it takes him a moment to think it through. 

“It wasn’t that he was old fashioned, or anything,” he tells her. “He just – he never prepared her for it. For anything, actually. Which is just – insane. And stupid. _Really_ fucking stupid,” he huffs, shakes his head again. “Considering the things that we – that _I –_ well, that _he_ had to do, to keep his position. I think... I think that he had to be in denial, or something. Mustn’t have thought that things would go down the way that they did, in the end.” 

He’s never spoken to anyone about his father like this, before. He’s never had to, since the only people that he discusses him with – briefly – are people who knew him when he was still alive, and he worries about the image that he’s portraying to her of the man who he looked up to, the man who he misses, the man who he loves. 

“He loved my ma more than anyone, or anything,” Kristoff sighs. “And he had this – this _plan._ He wanted me to take over, anyway; I guess whenever he thought that I was old enough, and ready for it. They were going to retire, then – head back home, to Norway. Obviously, it didn’t work out like that. And my ma... well, she’d lived out here with him for all of my life, and they had been married for a couple of years before I was born, so she knew the _basics,_ I guess. Kind of bare minimum stuff; about the job, a bout who did what and why they did it. But she never – _he_ never taught her much. Nothing useful, or practical.” 

He chances a glance away from their hands – where hers still rests on top of his – and looks up at her face to find her deep in thought. It’s easy enough to tell that she’s listening closely to what he’s telling her. 

He wonders if she can hear the things that he can’t say, too. 

Kristoff inhales a long, deep breath before he continues. “My birthday’s in September,” he tells her, and he doesn’t miss the small smile that she offers. “And we were going to port for it – my twentieth,” he adds. “We – ah – didn't make it that far. The machines – the ones that I showed you in the control room? They alert us, when there’s something nearby that shouldn’t be. But my dad was distracted – I don’t even know what he was doing at the time, something stupid, though – and he shrugged it off as nothing. Said it was too small to be anything worth worrying over.” 

It’s not often that he relives these memories in his head, and he’s certainly never told anyone about them, never hashed it out like this; and he’s surprised at the array of emotions that washes over him as he speaks. 

“Turns out, it wasn’t. Nobody was ready for it – the way that they came at us. My ma, she – well, a few of them got to her, before my dad could. They roughed her up pretty good, and then – _fuck,_ she was a mess,” he murmurs, and tears sting in the corners of his eyes at the memory of her face. “I got there as they held the knife up to her throat. My dad managed to get the guy off her – I don’t even know how, I can’t remember – but then he got shot.” 

Anna laces her fingers through his, her palm still resting perfectly on top of the back of his hand, and Kristoff looks down at their joined fingers as she squeezes. It’s not quite enough, though; so, he removes his hand from her grip – notes the worry on her face as he does so – and twists his over as quickly as he can. Their palms brush against each other, and he nudges her fingers with his own before he interlocks them once more. 

He focuses on breathing, on inhaling and exhaling, and on the way that it feels as she brushes her thumb across his skin. 

“They killed him,” he says, “murdered him, right in front of us. It was – it wasn’t slow, or anything, but that kind of... made it worse? One minute he was there, and the next he was just. Dead.” 

They sit like that, for a while – hand in hand, feet dangling over the platform of the crow’s nest. It’s nice, the way that he can breathe a little easier up here – reminds him of when he was little, when he’d scramble as quickly as he could up the rigging just to get away from it all, just to escape, just to feel _free._

Eventually, Anna speaks; her voice soft, like she doesn’t want to startle him. “Thank you for telling me,” she says to him, then squeezes his hand again. 

Despite the heavy weight that lingers in his chest at the memories of that day, Kristoff looks up at her and finds himself almost wanting to smile. _Thanks for listening,_ he wants to say. _I never had anyone that I could tell that to, before._ He _can’t,_ though – doesn't know how to form the words – so he just carries on looking at her and hopes that the look on his face tells her all that she needs to know. 

“My ma might want to tell you again,” he says, rolls his eyes in a poor attempt to lighten the heavy mood. “I mean – not in detail, or anything. That would be... Well, I don’t think so, anyway. It’s just that she – ah. She loves to talk. About him.” 

Anna offers him a small smile. “I can’t wait,” she responds, and Kristoff feels his whole mouth go dry when she shuffles ever so slightly closer and moves to rest her head against his shoulder. His entire body stiffens immediately at the contact, and he knows that she notices. “Is this okay?” she asks him, lifts her chin slightly so that she can look up at him with those big, blue eyes from where she’s nestled against his shoulder, and Kristoff clears his throat. 

“Yeah,” he tells her, “of course.” 

This time, he’s the one to squeeze her hand. 

. 

. 

. 

_“That’s_ Norway?” Anna asks, her tone a little high-pitched as she grins down at the map in her hands. “But it’s so tiny!” 

Kristoff chuckles at that as he slouches further into the back of his leather chair. “You’re American,” he says with a roll of his eyes. “I’m pretty sure that _Europe_ seems tiny to you. But trust me – it's big enough, for now. It’s not like you’re going to see all of it in the few days that we’re there.” 

He’s been somewhat preoccupied this evening, whilst the crew try their best to get everything ready for the ship to port smoothly. He and Mattias had a route to finalse as well as the docks to communicate with, but now that near enough everything is organised, Kristoff feels like he can finally relax, a little. There’s not an awful lot left to do now, other than wait until they reach land. 

It’s not ridiculously late, though – only ten – and he had returned to the room not long ago to find Anna freshly showered and leaning over his desk in her pyjamas. 

_A map,_ she had frowned at him, and Kristoff had known immediately what it was that she was after. 

Now that she’s got what she was looking for, she’s much happier. She’s facing him with her backside perched against the edge of his desk, and her position there reminds him of the last time that they were sat like this _(although this time, he knows better than to cast his eyes downward to see whether she decided to wear a bra)._

She twists slightly so that she can place the map down on top of his paperwork, and Kristoff watches as she shuffles against the back of his desk. He really should have offered her the chair – his ma would slap him round the back of the head so hard if she knew that he’d just left Anna standing there whilst he sat his ass down – but it’s getting late now, anyway, so he’ll probably just get up and – 

“What will the weather be like?” Anna blurts out as Kristoff moves to push himself up, and he hesitates; gets the feeling that she doesn’t _want_ him to move, yet. 

“Uh,” he stalls, suspicious. “It won’t be too different than what it’s like here, I guess,” he says, “not as windy, though.” 

He’s watching her every movement with careful eyes, and he doesn’t miss the way in which she seems to lean further back against the oak. He turns his head slightly as he watches her, though her slight change in position allows him to have a better look at her, and _fuck,_ he still has no idea how a person that short can have legs _tha_ _t long._

She knows that she’s torturing him. He can see it in her smirk, in the playful glint of her eyes. 

_Behave._

She giggles, and although he doesn’t think that he’s said anything particularly funny, he likes the sound of her laughter enough that he’ll take it without much fuss. The sound soon enough fades out, and he finds himself blinking at her, a little lost. 

There’s a tension in the air between them – the kind that he’s grown accustomed to, now. It wasn’t always there, to begin with – it mostly just came when they were training _(he thinks that it’s the sword, thinks that it does something to her; he had a feeling that she’d be a nightmare when it came to adrenaline rushes, and she might just prove him right)_ although it seems to be there more and more, now; when they’re just – together. 

So. It’s here again, that tension. _Thick,_ as she blinks at him; her eyes wide and her jaw slack, her lips parted and the rest of her body pulled tightly. It’s the kind of thick that he could cut, if he wanted to; thinks that he knows how, and thinks that she wants him to, too. 

He can’t, though. This is on her, and her alone. 

_He promised._

She regards him for what feels like an impossibly long amount of time, and he lets out a breath that he didn’t know he was holding when she finally smiles softly at him. He thinks that it’ll go – it usually fizzles, at some point – but he doesn’t expect her to move, and his eyes widen dramatically. 

Slowly – _painfully_ slowly – Anna pushes herself away from his desk, and she keeps her eyes locked onto his as she stands up straight before him. The change in position only means that she’s slightly taller than him, and Kristoff’s fingers twitch on the armrests of his chair as she approaches. 

He just wants to touch her. That’s all. _Again._

Just wants to reach out his hands and wrap them around the creamy, exposed skin of her thighs. It’ll be soft, he knows that it will be; and he knows that his hands are big enough that they’ll easy wrap around the muscle there, and his legs instinctively part, open as wide as they can so that she can step in between them. 

_Fuck,_ she’s so close. How did she get so close? 

“Kristoff,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper, and his eyes don’t know where to land, so they flicker around her face, dance over her eyes and her freckles and her lips and then back to her eyes once again. There’s too much of her to look at, so much of her to take in from this new angle, and _god,_ when she runs her tongue over her lips, he swears he almost combusts right on the spot. 

She smirks. 

She knows. 

His eyes widen when she raises her hands up to his face, and she cups his cheeks with her delicate fingers. Her thumbs gently trail over the stubble that litters his jaw – exploring, he thinks, and the thought makes him swallow thickly. 

He wants to explore, too. 

“Anna,” he murmurs back, and his fingernails dig harshly into the arms of his chair. “Can I –” 

“ _Yes_ ,” she breathes, nods eagerly at him before he can even finish his question, and he quickly succumbs to his desire to touch her. He presses his palms flat against the back of her thighs, and he mimics her as he drags the calloused pads of his thumbs over the downy hairs there. 

Her light eyes fill with something, then – surprise, perhaps, though he isn’t sure, since he can’t focus on much else other than how soft and smooth and warm she feels – and whatever it is that she finds in his own eyes has her biting down on her bottom lip. Kristoff can’t help but watch with wide eyes, and _christ_ _,_ he never thought that he’d be jealous of her fucking _teeth,_ but here he is – 

“Kristoff,” she breathes again, and _fuck him,_ he could really get used to her saying his name like that. The thought alone makes him swallow thickly, and the corners of her lips turn upwards. “Can I kiss you?” 

He blinks at her. Looks completely blank. 

_Holy fuck – is she for real?_

He nods, once. Doesn’t trust himself to speak. Physically can’t form the words. 

She shuffles impossibly closer to him, doesn’t stop moving until her knees brush against his chair and she can’t come any closer, and he takes advantage of the new angle. It’s _different,_ seeing her loom over him like this; and he’s glad he hasn’t dimmed the lights, yet, loves the way that it has her red hair shining brightly around her face, and he wants to keep looking at her, really, he does, but his eyes flutter to a close as she approaches. 

Her lips press against his own – a feather-like touch, at first, and he knows that he’s not dreaming. There’s no way that he is. He stays completely still as she pulls away just an inch – keeps his eyes closed, though he’s sure that she’s regarding him from underneath her own lids – and then she returns. 

She moves her mouth softly against his, and Kristoff responds easily to her lips. He’s thought about this moment far too many times than he cares to admit – wondered what it would feel like, would _be_ like, when they’d finally unite – but he never imagined that it would be like this. 

In his head, it was always hot, and hard, and fast: swords thrown carelessly onto the floor and mouths pressed harshly against each other, or bickering that leads to her pinned against the door and him against her. A clash of personalities – her fiery attitude in a constant battle with his stubborn pride – that played out in their kisses. 

He never pictured that the press of her lips against his own would be slow, and soft, and sensual, never considered that the stroke of her wet tongue against his would be lazy and languid, but now that he’s here, it all makes sense. 

It was supposed to be this way, he thinks. 

Kristoff keeps his head tilted back – her hands still resting on his cheeks – as he opens his mouth against her own, and he lets her control the gentle, easy pace of their kiss as she licks into him and explores. 

Even from this angle, it would be so easy to up the pace – so easy to yank her roughly against him, to quicken their kisses, to bite down on her lips and haul her into his arms – but he realises, now, that there’s no rush, no need to hurry. He’s enjoying this gentle exploration, this curious venture, and his shoulders sag as she sighs happily into his mouth. 

It’s impossible to estimate how long they stay like that for, and he can’t withhold a satisfied whimper when she sucks softly on his bottom lip, though eventually, she pulls away. 

Anna doesn’t move to drop her hands away from his face – keeps her thumbs stroking against his stubble – and so he holds still as he blinks his eyes open. His own fingers twitch against her thighs, and he can’t help but squeeze gently at her skin. She bites down on her bottom lip and then giggles, and _shit_ does that sound make his chest clench tightly. 

“Is this okay?” she asks him – and _fuck,_ isn’t _he_ supposed to be the one asking her that? – but he’s immediately reminded of their earlier conversation on the crow’s nest, and he can’t help but smile at her as his dark eyes flicker between her lips and her eyes. 

“Yeah,” he tells her, voice thick from their kisses and the memories of earlier, “of course.” 

She smiles – pleased with herself, he thinks – and then closes the distance between their lips to kiss him softly again, and Kristoff knows for certain that he had been right about her the very first moment that he saw her. 

His wife is _definitely_ going to be the death of him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT WAS IMPORTANT THAT HE OPENED UP TO HER ABOUT HIMSELF *BEFORE* SHE FINALLY GAVE IN TO THE TENSION AND KISSED HIM, OKAY?!?! DO YOU FORGIVE ME NOW?!!? 
> 
> I hope that was worth the pain that it took to get here! Lmao. 
> 
> P.S. we aren't quite there yet, but this is the part where I feel the need to remind you all of the _eventual smut_ tag, and the 'E' rating. If u have read Golden Boy then I'm sure u can see where I'm going with this (lol). 
> 
> goodnight xoxox


	18. Chapter 18

Anna doesn’t know when she stopped noticing the way in which the ship rocks and sways beneath her feet. 

She notices it again, now. Focuses on it for a while in the hopes that the feeling will ground her. 

(It doesn’t. She’s well and truly floating.) 

She tries not to squeal as she near enough throws herself face-down onto the bed and buries herself in the pillows. Kristoff excused himself to shower shortly after their kiss, and he’s still in there, now, so she’s fairly confident that he doesn’t hear anything when she inevitably _does_ squeal. 

She kissed him. 

Her. _Anna._

_She kissed him._

She can’t believe that she did it. She doesn’t know what came over her, really, and her heart beats rapidly in her chest as she rolls over onto her back and blinks up at the ceiling. She can’t seem to be able to stop smiling, and she raises one hand to her mouth, the tips of her fingers dancing over her lips as she remembers the way that it felt to have them pressed up against his. 

She’s been thinking about this for a while, now – wondering what it would feel like, if she gave into the overwhelming attraction that she felt towards him, and she can’t quite believe that he just – well, _sat there._

She leaned over him and held his face in her hands and stroked his cheeks and he _let her._

She’d seen the desperation in his eyes, the pleading in his voice – _can I?_ – and then the sheer relief when he had wrapped his huge palms around her thighs, and she wonders if that grounded him, wonders if it would have been enough. Kristoff had seemed more than content to let her explore him however she wanted; and he’d opened his mouth against her own, offered her his tongue, and she – 

Well. She took it. 

Gladly. 

She presses her hand against her mouth in order to stifle the breathless giggle that escapes her, and the blush soon returns to her cheeks at the sound of the water cutting out. She finds herself panicking at the thought of him returning from his shower – not a _bad_ kind of panic, though; more like a giddy, elated rush of adrenaline that makes her want to giggle and grin. 

For the last two and a half years, since her parents died, Anna has felt older than her years. Like she had to grow up overnight. Whilst Elsa struggled to cope, to _function,_ Anna had no other option but to deal with the situation at hand, to take one step at a time, to try and focus on the next right choice. 

Right now, though, basking in the afterglow of sharing a kiss with the most handsome man she’s ever known – well. Anna feels every inch of the eighteen-year-old that she is, and it feels _good._

There’s a part of her that wishes that her sister could see her, now. She’s certain that Elsa had never imagined that Anna would be so _happy_ here, and the thought somehow makes her feel even more giddy. 

She wonders what her sister would make of the wide curve of her lips and the blush of her cheeks, wonders what she would think of the way that Anna’s been outrageously flirting with the Captain of the ship, or the way that she’s been sleeping so soundly in his arms these past few nights. 

She wonders what Elsa would think about the way in which she just kissed him. 

Best of all, she realises that she couldn’t care in the slightest. 

There’s been a change in the dynamic between them, now, and Anna doesn’t know what to expect from here on out. She has a feeling that the way in which they approach _this –_ as in the direct aftermath of their kiss, as in him coming to bed with her when they’ve spent what felt like forever leisurely exploring each other’s mouths – is significant. 

It isn’t that she’s necessarily worried about what _he’s_ expecting to happen, now – after all, Kristoff has been nothing but chivalrous towards her, really (well – apart from the fact that he forced her to be here, to be his wife, in the first place; but she’s ignoring that detail for now) – so much as it is that Anna doesn’t know what _she_ expects, or wants. 

Sex – and near enough anything and everything related to it – hasn't exactly been at the top of her priorities for a long time. She supposes that not seeing or speaking to another person for months combined with not being able leave her house and generally worrying about the likelihood of surviving a global pandemic doesn’t do wonders for a person’s sex drive. 

He’s attractive, obviously. She’d known that from the moment that she laid eyes upon him. He’s nothing like any of the boys that she’s been attracted to, before – all tall and broad shouldered with defined muscles and wide hands, all masculine features and dark, smoldering eyes and long, brooding looks – and it’s been a struggle, not to lose herself around him. 

But she’s kissed him, now, and she knows that she’s gone. She accepted his parted lips and wet tongue and greedily drank in his taste, and it’s lit a small fire within her belly that she knows won’t go away. 

She doesn’t want it to, either. 

Still, it doesn’t change the fact that Anna doesn’t have the slightest clue about where to go from here; so, as she listens to the sound of him padding around the bathroom – no doubt changing into his pyjamas – she does the thing that seems to make the most sense in the moment. 

She pulls the covers over her body, turns on her side, snuggles her face into the pillow, closes her eyes and pretends to be asleep. 

She keeps her breathing as steady as she can as the bathroom door opens then closes. Kristoff’s dragging out his coming to bed, she thinks, and he shuffles around the room for what feels like forever; turns off the lights and pulls each curtain to a close, and Anna tries her best to fight a smile at the idea of him being even close to as nervous and excited and giddy as she is. 

The memory of his scowling face creeps into her mind, then; the picture of him stood on the deck on that very first day that she boarded the ship. She remembers the way in which he had been so hard, and cold, and _rude,_ and she wishes she knew then what she knows, now; thinks she might have enjoyed the journey a little more, had she known she’d start to fall for him along the way. 

After all, she never thought that she’d so much as tolerate him, in those early days. 

Thick fingers ghost over her jaw, and Anna can’t help the smile that comes, then. 

“Hey,” she whispers as she blinks her eyes open, and she’s thankful for the darkness and the way that it masks her burning cheeks. 

Kristoff chuckles, the sound no longer unfamiliar. “Hi,” he murmurs as he settles himself down beside her. There’s a beat of silence, and Anna finds herself holding her breath, until, “come here.” 

She does. 

His strong arms wrap around her the same way that they have in the nights leading up to this, and she smiles as she tucks her head underneath his chin and presses the tip of her nose against his throat. Kristoff curses softly. 

“You’re freezing,” he grumbles, though he doesn’t move away from her, and Anna smiles as she snuggles even closer to him. She disturbed the covers, when she shuffled eagerly over the bed and into his arms, and he releases his hold on her so that he can pull them tightly around them both.

“There,” he says, voice close a whisper, “better?” he asks, and Anna sighs pleasantly against his warm skin. 

“Much,” she says, her lips brushing against his neck, and she falls soundly to sleep. 

. 

. 

. 

He’s softer when he’s sleepy, and Anna purrs happily – the sound vibrating low in her throat – when she wakes the next morning to one hand cupping her jaw and the other resting lightly on the curve of her hip. Her eyes remain closed – she doesn’t want to blink into the sunlit room just yet; wants to stay in this sleepy haze for a little while longer – and she leans forward slightly so that the tip of her nose brushes against his chin. 

He shaved during his shower last night, and Anna revels in the new smoothness of his skin as she tilts her face higher against her pillow and drags the tip of her nose further up his face, following the way that his skin curves towards the base of his plump bottom lip. His thumb drags back and forth against her cheekbone as she moves, and his hands are so big that the tips of his fingers tickle against her hair as he caresses her. 

It’s nice, keeping her eyes closed, relying on her senses. And if his eyes are closed too, then she knows that he’ll feel the smile that spreads across her face before she tilts her head further back and presses her lips against his. 

So. Lazy morning kisses. That’s new. 

She doesn’t even mind his morning breath. 

. 

. 

. 

“And that’s how you slot it back into place,” Yelena finishes. 

Anna must look a little overwhelmed, and the older woman takes pity on her enough that she at least attempts to reassure her. “Don’t worry – these fools are constantly dislocating something or other. Next time one of them shows up here, I’ll send for you, and you can give it a go yourself.” 

_Great_ , she thinks, and she holds back a roll of her eyes. _Because what’s the worst that could happen, there?_

“I think we’re done for the day, anyway,” Yelena concludes, and Anna’s surprised when she glances at the clock and finds that it’s already six. 

She’s quickly growing accustomed to Yelena’s short and straight-to-the-point demeanor, so she doesn’t bother to linger as she quickly gathers up her notebook and pens _(she’s taking this very seriously, and has been making notes, too)_ and moves to head out of the medical cabin. Just as she turns her head over her shoulder to call out a goodbye, Yelena speaks again, surprising her. 

“I have to ask you,” she says, and Anna’s hand stills on the doorknob, “since I’ve mentioned it to your husband several times, now, and he doesn’t seem eager to discuss it. Have you thought about what contraception you would like?” 

Anna feels her face burn red, and she swallows thickly. 

_Oh, god._ She doesn’t even _want_ to imagine what Yelena has said to Kristoff about this. 

“Ah -” she starts, flusters, “I don’t - well, I’m not sure that we really _need -”_

The stern expression on Yelena’s face has Anna’s mouth snapping shut mid-stutter. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, of course you need it,” the older woman says dismissively, and she shuffles around in the cabin, moves towards a cupboard and begins to rummage through it. “My eyesight isn’t what it used to be, but I’m certainly not blind, and even I can see that that man could get you pregnant just from the way that he looks at you.” 

She didn’t think that it was possible for her to blush even more, but she does, and Anna’s hand falls away from the doorknob as Yelena waves her over. “Now - you’ve got several options...” 

. 

. 

. 

The sun is setting low in the sky, and it casts off a masterpiece of pinks and golds that splatter above her head and shimmer on the surface of the sea. It’s a beautiful sight, and Anna finds herself swallowing down a thick lump in her throat. 

It’s the first sunset that she’s seen from up high, and she mentally curses herself for not considering how cold it would be without the sun to warm her. Still, she wants to stay a while longer, so she braves the cold. 

Anna loses herself in thought, for a while, and the sun is still setting but the moon is also in sight by the time that Kristoff arrives on the platform. She hasn’t seen much of him throughout the day, since most of it has been spent with Yelena, and she can’t help but smile widely at the sight of him. He seems to have put some thought into his outfit, today – all colour-coordinated in his brown vest, cream undershirt and loose brown pants – and the setting sun lights up his fair hair in a soft, easy way that she’s never noticed before. 

She had been hoping that he would seek her out up here, and she had planned on informing him about what she has been mentally referring to as _‘The_ Talk’ that she had earlier with Yelena; but she doesn’t miss the way that his own smile doesn’t meet his eyes as he moves to sit beside her, and Anna feels an uneasy sensation stir within her gut. 

It’s been a while since she felt like this around him, and she doesn’t like the look on his face. He looks more like _Captain Kristoff_ rather than just _Kristoff,_ and Anna can’t see how on earth that could possibly be a good thing. 

She thinks back to last night and this morning – to wet mouths, to lazy, exploratory tongues and swollen lips – and thinks of how happy he had seemed, then. She can’t imagine what could have happened between then and now that would cause him to look like this. 

“What’s wrong?” she blurts out, eager to know, and he whips his head towards her so quickly that his mop of blonde hair flies in all directions. In any other circumstance, she would have no doubt found it endearing, but she’s too tense. 

Kristoff regards her with a cautious expression before he ducks his head and scoffs. “Am I that obvious, now?” he asks her, and she well and truly frowns at the sight of his lips quirking. 

He heaves out a dramatic sigh before he lifts one of his hands to the back of his neck and rubs. She shuffles a little awkwardly against the floor of the platform as he rolls his lips together and puffs out his cheeks, and he chances a glance at her out of the corner of his eyes before he sighs again. 

She feels awfully nauseous, all of a sudden. 

“I need to talk to you about something,” he says, and Anna wants to reach out and intertwine their fingers, but he’s got both of his hands resting on his knees, and she thinks that he might have positioned himself like that intentionally so that she can’t reach out to him. 

“Okay,” she says, suspicion and confusion thick in her tone. 

His dark eyes dance over her face, and she can sense his internal battle, but she has no idea what it is that’s running through his head. Her heart thunders violently within her chest, and the silence between them is so painful that she’s just about to _beg_ him to put her out of her misery when he lifts one of his arms and reaches into the inside of his vest. 

She watches with narrowed eyes as he reveals a folded piece of paper, and she watches as he drops it down to his lap and then moves to hold it with both of his hands. He looks down at it, too – doesn't seem to be able to hold her gaze – and he runs his thumbs over it, soft and gentle, just like he did when he caressed the skin of her thighs and her cheek. 

He’s moving so slowly that she almost wants to jump in, wants to pull the paper out of his hands and throw it open; but then she spots the familiar name printed in large lettering, and she feels as though her heart drops into her stomach. 

She recognises the paper, now, and she doesn’t have to read down the list of Elsa’s crimes to remember what they were. He unfolds the paper to its full size, then runs one of his palms across it, smoothening it out. 

Anna watches as his fingers dance over his signature that lies right at the bottom, next to her sister’s. 

“I meant what I said,” he begins. “About - well, everything. About your sister, and how she was a pain in my ass, and how I was glad to see the back of her. And then about – about having a wife, kind of in general. How it would make negotiations easier, stuff like that,” he continues. “And I meant what I said about you, too – or at least, I _did.”_

He’s well and truly lost her, now, and Anna’s not usually one to not know what to say, but she’s near enough speechless as she watches him talk. She’s still not sure that she likes where this conversation is going – it's impossible to read the look on his face, as he stares down at the words – and so she remains quiet and waits for him to elaborate. 

“I told you that I didn’t want you here, just as much as you didn’t want to be here,” he says, huffs out a laugh, “and I made a promise to you that I didn’t - didn’t _expect_ anything from you. You know – as, as my _wife_ , or whatever. _Like that._ ” 

She doesn’t miss the way in which his cheeks flush, and a strong gust of wind has Anna’s hair flying around her face at the same time that it sweeps his fringe back, and he looks up at her, then, with soft eyes and a downturned mouth. 

“I still don’t expect anything from you,” he says, “but I – I don’t think that I can do this, anymore.” 

Her eyes widen dramatically as he adjusts the paper in his hands and tears it straight down the middle. The sound of it ripping might as well be as loud as a gunshot, from the way that it has her startling, and she watches intensely as he twists it around in his hands so that he can rip it again, and again, and again; until all that remains of it is a series of uneven jagged edges and unreadable words. 

“I didn’t plan for any of this,” he tells her as he frowns down at his hand, “I didn’t plan for _you._ But I meant it, what I said – that it’s _only you._ And I can't – I can’t keep you here, not anymore. Not if you’re not happy. And I – I’m starting to feel like you might be, or that you could be, happy here; but if you are, then I don’t want it to be because of some – some _stupid_ punishment for your sister’s crimes.” 

Anna feels a little dizzy, and tears begin to prick in her eyes as he continues. 

“I want you to be happy, Anna,” he sighs, “however that might be. And when we port, in Norway – you can do whatever you want. _Go_ wherever you want. You’re a free woman.” 

She didn’t expect any of this, and she’s a little shell-shocked, but more than anything, she wants to tell him; wants to tell him of how she never imagined that she could feel this way towards him, never imagined that she could actually be happy here, or that she’d even want to stay, and she wants to tell him that she meant it, too. 

_I want to stay here, Kristoff. I want to stay with you._

“And I meant it when I told you that I am the law out here,” he tells her, and Anna can’t hold back the small choke of laughter that escapes her lips at that, doesn’t miss the way he smirks, either, “and you are officially pardoned.” 

He releases his fist, then, and Anna watches with trembling hands and wide eyes as the wind swipes the ripped pieces of paper from his large hand, lifts them into the salty air and carries them away. She watches them fade into the darkening sky, follows them until they disappear from view, and then she turns to face him once more. 

“Kristoff,” she whispers, her voice shaky. She’s so overwhelmed, and she doesn’t know what else to say, but he smiles sadly at her as though he knows something that she doesn’t. 

“I really do care about you, Anna,” he sighs, “and I _mean it._ I want you to be happy. And I – I want it to be your _choice._ ” 

Her light eyes trail over his face once more, and she shakes her head slightly as a small, surprised huff escapes her mouth. “I - you can’t -” she starts, then grins, “oh, _god,_ Kristoff –” 

She doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t think she can trust herself to form the words to explain herself to him, and so she settles for launching herself at him. The movement surprises him, she knows; and he’s completely stiff and rigid as she wraps her arms around his neck. She laughs – a light, elated sound that carries out into the salty breeze – as she presses the side of her face against his, and Anna looks up into the sky with teary eyes as she inhales a ragged breath. 

After a beat or two, he relaxes beneath her hold, and Anna just about manages to hold back a sob of relief when he places one of his large hands on the small of her back. It’s not the best angle, she knows – both of their upper bodies twisted awkwardly whilst their legs dangle over the platform – but she’s not ready to back away. 

“Kristoff, I _am_ happy,” she tells him, and _god,_ she really does mean it, too. She tightens her hold on him a little, hopes that he’ll understand. “I’m happy with _you._ And I want to stay here. I - I'm _going_ to stay here.” 

He leans further into her touch, then, and Anna can’t wait any longer – she's been eager to spend time with him again since they parted ways this morning – so she relaxes her hold on the back of his neck just enough so that she can turn her face towards him and press her lips against his in a desperate, passionate kiss. 

Her shoulders sag as he enthusiastically responds to her kiss, and although the distinct sound of a wolf-whistle from below isn’t enough to deter her, it apparently _is_ enough for him. Kristoff lets out a frustrated groan as he pulls away from her mouth, and her palms slide away from the back of his neck and come to rest on his chest as he glances over the lower half of the protective railing. 

“Fucking Mattias,” he grumbles, and Anna laughs lightly as she leans over the railing, too, and spots his first mate grinning widely up at them. “I swear to god –” 

“Oh, leave him alone,” she murmurs playfully, and she smiles softly as Kristoff raises his hand to her face and tucks some of her hair behind her ear. 

“Yeah?” he says, his tone playful and light as thick fingers come to rest over her jawline, “give me one good reason why I should.” 

She can’t help but smirk at that.

“Because your _wife_ told you to,” she retorts, and she yanks on his shirt to pull him closer towards her so that she can kiss him once more. 


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter sees Anna battling through some power dynamics when it comes to the different aspects of her evolving relationship with Kristoff - and, u know, 'Captain Kristoff'. 
> 
> enjoy!
> 
> p.s. thanks to my girl @feistypaants for being an absolute angel and assisting with ideas when Captain Kristoff doesn't want to cooperate l o l

The body of the sword presses flat against her stomach, and Kristoff smirks. 

“Dead,” he proclaims, triumphant and pleased, and Anna huffs out a quick breath that causes her bangs to fly away from her forehead. The rest of her hair is tied back in a high ponytail, and she narrows her eyes at him as he drops the sword back down to hang loosely by his side. 

He laughs; a loud, casual kind of laugh that just irritates her even more, and Kristoff slouches backwards so that he’s leaning against the wall behind him as he watches her. She can’t stand the smug grin that settles across his face – he's _supposed_ to be good at this, since he’s the Captain of the ship, and he no doubt started training with a sword when he was still in diapers – but he’s so damned cocky about it and always so pleased with himself when he beats her. 

She’s slowly accepting the fact that she’s highly unlikely to ever be better than him at this. She’ll improve, no doubt about that; but no matter how hard she tries, no matter how much she pushes herself, she’s never going to be able to top his skill. 

Which is an issue, because more than anything, Anna _really_ wants to wipe that grin from his face. She wants to be the one who’s smug, and – 

She thinks that she might have an idea. 

Kristoff might be the Captain of this ship, but when it comes to _them,_ he’s very much following her lead, she’s noticed. 

So. She’s going to try something. Test the water. 

_Remind him who’s boss._

Anna’s entire body sags as she physically relaxes, an over-exaggerated movement that she knows he notices. Her own hands fall down by her sides, and she begins to swing the sword casually, just small movements that have the blade cutting through the air as she cocks her head at him. 

He looks awfully handsome today – wearing a loose white shirt (he’s left the top three buttons unfastened, too) tucked into black pants tucked into black boots – and Anna makes a point of dragging her eyes over the full length of him, right from the bottom of his boots all the way up to his soft, fair hair, then back to settle on his eyes. Her mouth goes a little dry, anyway, so she wets her lips with her tongue and blinks slowly over at him. 

His own eyes have narrowed – suspicious, she thinks; no doubt thinking about how she’s never usually _this_ outrageously flirty, even in training – though she doesn’t miss the way that his breath hitches as she slowly creeps towards him. 

She fights a smirk at the sound, and she tries her best to look as innocent as possible as she approaches. It’s not as though she’s got the most curvaceous body, but she sways her hips a little as she walks, anyway; hopes that her black leggings and plain tank top are tight enough to emphasise the movements. 

He’s so _tall,_ and she tilts her chin in order to keep eye contact with him as she steps closer into his vicinity . She feels ridiculous, honestly, and she’s not convinced that this is working, but she has to _try,_ so she pushes her shoulders back – not that she’s got an awful lot of chest to work with, but, you know, _trying –_ and she pulls her bottom lip between her top teeth as she flutters her lashes. 

He swallows thickly, and Anna’s light eyes dance over the blush on his cheeks, on his parted lips and slack jaw, and she thinks that maybe this is working, after all. 

“Kristoff,” she murmurs in the breathiest voice that she can manage, her gaze darting between his lips and his eyes, and she never realised how long his own lashes were, and how is that even _fair_ _?_

“Yeah?” he asks, his voice thick and low and heavy, and his eyes flutter to a close as she pushes a hot breath over his face. He tilts his head down towards her and begins to lean, inching closer to close the distance between their mouths painfully slowly, and _god,_ she really _does_ want to kiss him, and the sight of him running his own tongue over his chapped lips is enough to take her breath away – 

Anna flicks her wrist, and the blade of her sword presses underneath his chin, and his eyes fly open wide. 

“Dead,” she grins. 

Kristoff’s eyes narrow at her. “You little shit,” he mutters, but he’s smirking, too; and Anna just about has the sense to toss the sword onto the floor – the metal rippling against the wood with a loud _clang –_ before his hands find purchase on either side of her hips, and he hauls her up into his arms. 

Anna shrieks in surprise as he lifts her with ease, and she grins widely as she instinctively wraps her legs around his waist and winds her hands around his thick neck. 

“You’re gonna get it, now,” he warns, and Anna grins playfully at him. 

“I better,” she retorts, and she briefly wonders whether it was too far, whether this is a case of too much, too soon; but then his lips are on hers, and that worry disappears immediately. 

A pleased moan slips past her lips as he hurries them swiftly towards the door, and she gasps as he presses her firmly up against the solid wood. His mouth moves forcefully against her own, and this kiss is different to the others that they’ve shared so far; all hard and hot and fast, and she can’t help but grin against his mouth as she keeps up with the intense pace that he’s set. 

Her fingers wrap into the short, fine hairs at the nape of his neck, and she tugs experimentally at them. A low, approving noise rumbles in the back of his throat, and warmth floods through her at the sound. She wants to hear it again, wants to pull similar noises from his chest, and so she nips at his lip and elicits a similar response. 

She’s a little disappointed when he pulls away from her lips, but his hands remain tightly on her waist and he continues to pin her to the door with his body, so she doesn’t pout just yet. His eyes dance over her face, and he shakes his head a little as he smirks at her, his chest heaving up and down dramatically. 

“I fucking knew you’d be nothing but trouble,” he pants, though he still sounds amused, and Anna giggles. 

It's _nice,_ she thinks, this playful banter, this easy rhythm that they're establishing. She's comfortable around him, now; secure, and confident, and she thinks that he feels the same. 

“You like it, though,” she tells him, cocks a brow to confirm, and Kristoff hums. 

“You’re damn right, I do,” he agrees, and then he kisses her again. 

. 

. 

. 

It's cold when she wakes, and Anna frowns as she blinks open her eyes into the darkness of the room. 

Her hand stretches out into the open space next to her, though she doesn’t have time to worry about his absence, since she hears his voice – low and distant – coming from across the room. She pushes herself upright in the bed and smacks her lips together a few times before she rubs her fists tightly against her eyes. 

The light from the hallway illuminates his form, and Anna watches quietly as he speaks quietly to whoever is outside the door. She doesn’t make out anything significant before he dismisses them and moves to close it, finally turning round to face her. 

“Kristoff,” she murmurs, voice thick with sleep, “what’s going on?” 

He sighs as he approaches the bed. “Go back to sleep, Anna,” he says softly, and the redhead happily complies as she flops back down onto the mattress. 

She naturally expects him to join her back in bed, but he doesn’t. Instead, he makes his way over towards the wardrobe and begins to rummage through it, and the unusual behaviour is enough to finally encourage her mind to wake. 

“What are you doing?” she frowns, voice a little louder than before, “where are you going?” 

Kristoff sighs as he moves to sit down on the edge of the bed – clothes flopping down messily beside him – and he cups her face with one large palm. Anna leans into his touch and smiles softly. He’s more confident with touches like this, now; and she thinks that she gave him permission, with her slow, soft kisses and her agreement to stay. 

“There’s another boat,” he explains, and her eyes had been fluttering to a close at the feel of his calloused thumb dragging back and forth across the skin of her cheek, but now they fly open wide, “only a small one. But – it's not supposed to be there. So...” he trails off, sighs, and though she can’t see him very well as a result of the low light, she can hear the hesitance in his voice. 

She knows where this is going, and she thinks he knows what her response will be. 

“We’re - ah. Going to do some... _investigating.”_

Anna pushes herself upright before he finishes the word. “I’m coming with you.” 

Kristoff sighs. “No, you’re not,” he tells her as he drops his hand from her face, but she catches his wrist in her hand and wraps her fingers around it. 

“Yes I _am,”_ she retorts stubbornly. “You’ve been training me for this, and I’ve been working so _hard_ , and I thought – I thought that you thought I was doing well.” 

His hand twitches beneath her fingers, and she wishes that she could see his face clearer in the darkness. “Anna,” he says, and his voice is softer, now, “you _are_ doing well. _Better_ than well, even. But it’s -” 

“You promised that you’d teach me everything,” she interrupts, a little desperate, really; and he can’t see the fire in her eyes, but she’s certain that he hears it in her tone. 

Silence stretches between them as he hesitates at her words, and then Kristoff sighs once more, his arm relaxing beneath her grasp. Anna grins widely at the sound – she knows _exactly_ what it means, doesn’t have to see his face to hear his defeat – and she moves to scramble towards her bedside table. 

“You stay by my side,” he says, though she’s not paying him much mind as she rummages through the drawers for something appropriate to wear. “It could be dangerous. We don’t know what – or who – is on that boat. I don’t want you out of my sight.” 

“Alright,” she tells him, and she hurries as she moves to shimmy out of her pyjama shorts. It’s dark enough that she doesn’t have to worry about him seeing an awful lot of her bare skin, anyway; and she’s too excited at the thought of him actually trusting her enough to let her accompany him that she doesn’t second-guess the action. “I promise, I’ll stay by your side.” 

. 

. 

. 

Kristoff wasn’t kidding, when he said that the other boat was small. _Tiny,_ in fact. 

Four men accompany them, though the only one who Anna recognises is Mattias. She’s the last one to climb down the ladder that has been lowered for them so that they can easily reach the small boat from their much taller ship, though there’s still a reasonable amount of space between the end of the ladder and the small deck. 

All of the men who climbed down managed to jump onto it with ease, but when Anna reaches the final step, she’s surprised to find Kristoff stood beneath her with one large hand stretched out for her to take. 

It’s nice of him, she thinks. 

But the other men managed just fine, and they’re watching her, now. Waiting. 

Anna regards his outstretched hand for a moment longer before she chooses to ignore it entirely, and she makes a point of rolling her eyes at his open palm before she jumps down onto the deck, too. 

She at least had the sense to bend her knees a little in order to soften the landing, and she grins up at Kristoff as she stands to her full height. He doesn’t look amused in the slightest, and her smile falls slightly as he frowns down at her and lets his arm drop back by his side. 

Anna sighs, then nudges at his bicep with her shoulder. “Lighten up,” she murmurs, her voice quiet so that the other men can’t hear. They’re distracted, anyway – Mattias has already wandered inside the main body of the boat, and the other men are following his lead. 

Still, Kristoff is awfully stiff, and she can sense that he really is on edge, so she briefly slides her hand into his and gives it a quick squeeze. “I’m right here,” she reminds him, “like I promised.” 

He continues to frown, but he squeezes her hand in return before he turns to move towards his men. Anna misses the warmth of his hand as soon as he pulls it away, but the wonder of what lies within the ship is enough to distract her for now. 

. 

. 

. 

Anna is, unfortunately, familiar with the revolting scent of dead, rotting bodies, thanks to her time on the ship so far; and she tries her best _not_ to gag as it overwhelms her. 

There’s really no need for her to enter the room where the bodies are, but Kristoff wanders in after his men. “You’re sure that they’re dead?” he asks, and he may as well have grown two heads from the appalled way in which she looks at him, but he has his back to her, anyway, so he doesn’t see. 

She wonders whether he’s immune to the smell, or something. 

There’s another small room directly across the way, and Anna glances over her shoulder before she creeps towards it. It’s giving her the creeps, really; the thought of this ship just floating around at sea, carrying two dead bodies with it for god knows how long, although she supposes that – 

“Oh!” 

Anna physically startles as she steps over the threshold of the small room, and she instinctively clutches at her chest as she leaps backwards as a result of the shock. After a moment, she relaxes her hand slightly so that her palm is pressed flat against her dark sweater, and she feels the way in which her heart thunders rapidly beneath the material. 

She regards the stranger with wide-eyes and a tense spine, but after a beat or two of looking, Anna’s entire body sags and relaxes, relief coursing through her. 

It’s a boy. A _little_ boy, with big, blue eyes, dirty skin and shaggy black hair, and Anna’s expression softens as she looks over him. It’s impossible to tell his height, since he’s crouched underneath a small, wooden table, but he’s wearing too-small pants and a tight, thin vest, so she notes immediately how gaunt he looks. He’s trembling violently from where he cowers, and Anna lets out a breath as her heart begins to calm. 

It feels as though it’s been an awfully long time since she last saw a child, and the thought makes her sad and has her smiling all at once. It’s nice, she thinks – better than the alternative, really – though the child flinches when she moves to step towards him, and so she settles on lowering her body into a crouching position so that she can look into his eyes a little better whilst still keeping her distance from him. 

“Hello,” she breathes, suddenly feeling awkward, though she keeps her voice soft and quiet. “Are you okay?” 

The boy doesn’t answer her question and he continues to tremble as he regards her with wide, wild eyes, and Anna’s smile softens further as she cocks her head at him. “My name’s Anna,” she says, “what’s your name?” 

He narrows his eyes at her from beneath the table, and she thinks that he’s considering answering her question, though something seems to stop him. Anna hadn’t considered that he might not even understand what she’s saying, but so far, he hasn’t given her any indication to believe that he doesn’t speak English – no confused expressions or anything, at least, so she waits patiently for him to speak. 

Eventually, he does, though his voice is a little hoarse, so he has to clear his throat. 

“My name’s Olaf,” he tells her, and Anna’s smile widens. 

She shuffles against the floor, effectively re-positioning herself so that she’s kneeling against the hard wood, and she places her palms flat against her thighs. “It’s nice to meet you, Olaf,” she says, and the little boy’s lips quirk a little, too. 

His smile falls at the sound of heavy boots approaching, though. 

“Anna,” Kristoff’s voice calls out – all casual and light – as he approaches, “you ready? There’s nothing worthwhile here, just two – _fuck.”_

She hears the distinct _click_ that comes as a result of the safety mechanism of a gun being turned off, and Anna frowns as the little boy whimpers loudly and curls further in on himself. 

She whips her head over her shoulder and glares up at where Kristoff lingers in the doorway. In all fairness, he _does_ look surprised, though he continues to leave his arm outstretched in mid-air, gun tightly in hand. 

“Kristoff,” she bites out through gritted teeth, and his dark eyes bounce between Olaf’s and her own. “He’s just a boy. Put the gun down.” 

Kristoff narrows his eyes as he looks between Anna and the boy, and she widens her own as she gestures towards the gun in his hands in disbelief. He gives her a long, hard look in return before he reluctantly begins to lower his arm, though she doesn’t miss the way in which his fingers twitch against the weapon. 

“This is Olaf,” she explains to him, and then she turns to smile at the boy once again. “Olaf, this is Kristoff. He’s a Captain –” 

“Anna,” Kristoff says from behind her, his tone laced with warning. 

She ignores him. 

“– if you like, you can come back with us. To our ship,” she continues. 

“Anna. _No.”_

The redhead turns to him then, an incredulous look upon her face as she blinks up at him from where she’s kneeling on the floor. She thinks of how large he is, as he looms in the doorway, and she imagines how terrifying he must appear to this poor boy. 

“He’s a little boy, Kristoff,” she murmurs, “we can’t just leave him here.” 

He well and truly scowls at her, now, and she’s transported back to that very first day on the ship, and the thought is enough to ignite anger within the pit of her stomach. She isn’t sure what she expected from him, really; but it certainly wasn’t _this._

“I said no,” he bites out, his jaw hard and tense, eyes fully narrowed. “I’m not risking the safety of my men for some – some _kid.”_ She balks, and Kristoff throws his arms into the air as he continues to glare down at her. “What?” he cries out, like _she’s_ the one that being so ridiculous. “Are you – what, immune to the smell, or something?” 

Anna’s jaw hardens, too. “No,” she says, “I’m _not._ And if you won’t have him on the ship, then I’m staying here with him.” 

He scoffs at that. “Like hell you are,” he dismisses, and she rolls her eyes at him. 

“He’s a _child,_ Kristoff,” 

“Which is exactly why I can’t have him on my ship.” 

“What?” she frowns, and she blinks rapidly up at him. She’s trying her best to keep her voice smooth, and soft, and even – on account of not frightening Olaf even more, of course – although Kristoff is certainly testing her ability to do that. “That doesn’t even make any sense.” 

He drops his arms back down by his sides, and the sound of his hands smacking against his thighs cause Olaf to whimper once more. The sound catches his attention, and Kristoff looks over at the boy briefly before he resumes his glaring at Anna. 

“You’ve seen for yourself how dangerous it can be,” he says to her, and Anna watches as his fists clench tightly, “it’s not an appropriate place for a _child._ ” 

Worry begins to bubble within her now, too, and she starts to think that she might not actually be able to talk him round, about this one. She means it, though – she can’t just leave this poor boy here. “You grew up on a ship, didn’t you?” she asks him, and her eyes widen at the hypocrisy of his previous statement. “And look at you! You turned out just fine. So, I don’t see why –” 

“Anna, I mean it –” 

“– why you have to be so _unreasonable_ about this!” 

Silence stretches between them for the longest time, then, and Anna’s entire body is shaking as a result of the anger and frustration that she feels towards him. Kristoff seems calmer than her – he's not shaking, at least – though his features remain tense, and hard, and cold, and she wonders where _he_ is, now, wonders how she gets through to _him_ , and not _Captain Kristoff._

She softens under his gaze before she lets out a sigh. “I can’t just leave him on his own,” she says, her voice quieter now. She glances over at the trembling boy – who's skin has turned an awful shade of white – before she blinks back up at Kristoff. 

Footsteps approach down the small hallway, though she doesn’t let the sight of Mattias emerging behind his Captain deter her. “I was on my own for months, after Elsa left, and I was _terrified._ I was eighteen years old, Kristoff,” she says, and she watches intently as his furrowed brow relaxes just a touch. 

_That’s it,_ she thinks, _come back._

“He’s just a little boy. We can’t just leave him here, to –” she looks over at Olaf, then; so small, malnourished, _vulnerable,_ and swallows thickly. She can’t finish the sentence – doesn't want to say the word – and so she looks up at Kristoff once more . “ _Please.”_

Kristoff huffs out a quick breath through his nostrils and tilts his head towards Mattias. “Take him to Yelena,” he says, and Mattias nods firmly. “And don’t let him fucking touch anything.” 

Anna’s shoulders sag as he turns on his heel and strides away, but she remains frozen on the floor for a beat. The tense atmosphere is palpable, but thankfully, Mattias doesn’t comment on it; instead, he steps forwards, too, and bends at the knee so that he can get a better look at the boy. 

“Hello,” he says, and Anna smiles warmly despite the way her heart continues to pound in her chest. 

At least _someone_ on this ship is empathetic. 


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my darling friend Laura made a playlist for this fic, you can find it here -
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7wG0tSPsi0n57vJDirWUuw?si=ccKkf5NnTyiRHpSUhIHm0w
> 
> thank you angel ilysm! 
> 
> enjoy x

He waits for a while – sits on the bed with his head in his hands – but his ma always did tell him that patience wasn’t one of his best qualities, so. 

He knocks firmly against the wooden door three times before he drops his hands to his hips, and he isn’t surprised when Yelena appears, though she opens it just a crack. He gives her what he considers to be one of his most intimidating, no-nonsense glares, but the older woman doesn’t seem phased by it in the slightest as she slowly looks him up and down. 

If anything, her downturned mouth and hard eyes tell him that _he’s_ the one irritating her. 

Yelena cocks an expectant brow at him when he doesn’t speak immediately. “What?” she asks, and Kristoff tries his best not to snap at her – after all, it’s not as though he expected a warm, cooperative welcome from her. 

“My wife,” he just about manages to get out through gritted teeth whilst his nails dig into his hips, “where is she?” 

“I’m here,” Anna’s voice comes, then, though she hardly sounds pleased, either. 

Yelena narrows her eyes at him – a silent warning, he thinks; and the thought only serves to rile him up even more – before she pulls the door open wider, revealing the expanse of the medical room to him. 

His dark eyes immediately find her. She’s perched on the edge of the patient bed that’s occupied by a tiny body rather than a full-grown man, and there’s a stained cloth in one of her hands along with a large metal bowl filled with dirty water perched in her lap. 

The boy – _Olaf,_ he thinks – is lay on his back with his head on the pillow. It was hard to make out most of his features in the dim light of the small boat, but Kristoff notes that he looks cleaner, now; the pale skin of his face free of dirt, and his dark hair is a little damp, too. He looked tiny enough before, but he seems impossibly smaller now that the rest of his body has been wrapped in thick, warm blankets, and Kristoff doesn’t miss the way in which he’s looking over at him with frantic, worried blue eyes. 

He’s still the Captain of this ship, whether Anna likes it or not; yet somehow, it figures that the only person in the room who’s currently looking at him like he has any kind of authority is the little boy. 

The thought is enough to make him feel a little nauseous, because _christ_ _,_ he’s an asshole, he knows it, but he’s not the kind of bad that gets a thrill as a result of terrifying little kids. 

His eyes return to Anna, then, and he sighs. It doesn't matter that he’s only known her just short of four weeks – he can tell by her expression that she’s furious with him, and he knows that it’s not going to get much better just yet. He tries to be mindful of the boy as he speaks and does his best to keep his voice steady and even. 

“Come on,” he says to her as softly as he can whilst remaining firm, “I want to talk to you.” 

She’s going to give him hell about all of this, he knows it; but he’s tired, and irritated, and honestly just ready to have it over and done with so that they can go back to sleep. Still, though, he doesn’t particularly want an audience witnessing her handing his ass to him about what a jerk she thinks he’s been; but from the way in which she glares over at him and makes a point of crossing her arms firmly over her chest, he has a feeling that she’s more than happy staying put. 

“No, thank you,” she says dismissively, and she tilts her chin up further into the air. 

Challenging him, he thinks. 

“Anna,” he near enough growls, and he’s _really_ not in the mood for this, “it's _not_ a request.” 

Yelena shuffles a little from where she’s still stood by him, but he doesn’t look over at her. Instead, he continues to focus on Anna, who over-dramatically rolls her eyes and huffs. “What,” she says, disbelief in her tone as she frowns, “is it an _order,_ then?” 

Kristoff’s nostrils flare at her words, and his fingernails dig so harshly into his hips that it almost hurts, even over his clothing. She’s being so fucking _difficult,_ and she knows it; and _fuck him,_ he wants to bite, wants to snap and roar that _yes, it_ _fucking_ is, _by order of your Captain._

He wills the words to come as he heaves in another breath, but they don’t. They won’t come to him as easily as they would have done just a few weeks before, and he ends up just standing there, silently scowling at her. 

There’s a tension in the air again, but not the kind that he’s grown accustomed to whilst being around her. This is the kind of tension that he remembers from her first days on the ship, the kind of tension that comes from defiance and anger, rather than heat and desire. 

He doesn’t like it. Not anymore. 

Anna drops the stained cloth back into the dirty bowl of water, and the soft noise of it splashing is enough to snap him out of his thoughts. He watches her slender fingers move as she fishes for it – keeping her eyes locked onto his face the entire time – and then squeezes it tightly, wringing out the excess liquid. 

“I already told you,” she says, punctuating every single word, “no thank you, _Captain.”_

She places emphasis on the final word – says it like it leaves a bitter taste on her tongue – and Kristoff straightens his shoulders at the sound. His hands finally drop from his hips, and he clenches his fists tightly by his sides. 

He’s suddenly very aware of Yelena’s watchful gaze, and his cheeks flush slightly beneath it. His eyes quickly dart to the older woman before he looks back at the child, and then finally, to Anna. 

“Fine,” he just about manages to bite out, “suit your fucking self.” 

Then he turns on his heel and strides away, ignoring the sound of the door closing behind him. 

. 

. 

. 

Kristoff paces around the cabin, at first; frustrated and pissed off and utterly enraged. 

He doesn’t know what she expects from him, really. It’s alright for _her –_ she doesn’t have to worry about anything, or anyone else. Meanwhile, _he_ is responsible for the ship, for the safety of his men, for the transportation of a life-saving vaccine, and for – 

Her. 

He's not going to risk it all for the sake of some _kid._ The boy’s parents were obviously infected – he could near enough _taste_ the virus in the air on that boat, never mind smell it – and there’s no doubt in his mind that the boy will be infected, too. They’ve made it this far without any incidents, but the last thing that he needs right now is for any of his men to go getting sick. 

He’s not going to think about the possibility of _her_ getting sick. He’s _not._

Although by the way that she was sat so close to the boy, she wasn’t thinking about that, either. It was reckless, and careless, and just plain stupid; and when he told Mattias to make sure that the kid didn’t touch anything, he didn't realise he needed to specify that 'anything’ included _Anna_. 

He knew that he shouldn’t have taken her with him. She wasn’t _ready –_ he meant it, when he had told her that her training was going better than well, but it didn’t mean that she was emotionally ready for the potential burden that could be placed on her shoulders as a result of accompanying him. Still, it was near enough impossible to say no to her, and like the idiot that he was, he had agreed. 

It had been worth it to see the smile on her face, no matter how short-lived that was. 

This would never have happened if she would have listened to him, either – if she would have just stayed by his side, like he had told her to in the first place. Someone else would have found the kid first – him, or Mattias, or one of the other guys, it wouldn’t have mattered. There’s no doubt in his mind that she would have come to see him for herself, that she would have protested; but he thinks that he would have at least been able to manage the situation a little better, had she not been the one to get to the boy first. 

Kristoff knows that there’s no way he’ll be able to sleep without her there, so he showers, instead; rests the back of his head against the glass and lets the warm spray of water wash away the immediate fury that he feels towards the situation. 

He meant what he said, when he told her that the ship wasn’t an appropriate place for a child. 

_You grew up on a ship,_ she had told him, _you t_ _urned out just fine._

Did he? 

Most of his childhood was spent in lonely isolation. He had no friends or companions, no other children his own age to pretend with, or play with. His parents had loved him, he knew that, but his father was a busy man, and when he wasn’t busy, then he was preparing him for what life as a Captain would mean; and whilst his mother wasn’t shy with her affection towards him, she was always so fearful, too. 

He knows that he would go back and change it, if he had the option to. Knows that he would opt for a normal life; to have a home that doesn’t rock beneath waves, to have friends – or at least acquaintances – his own age, to have the space the freedom to run, and play, and dream, to have a choice in what he wants to be, or what he wants to do, or where he wants to go. 

To never have to worry about who he might lose, or how he might lose them. 

He stays there, frozen into place even as the water turns cold. It’s only when he begins to shiver that he finally moves to cut off the water, and Kristoff huffs as he towels dry his dripping wet body, sighs before he shakes out his wet hair and then glares at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. 

He doesn’t see himself, anymore. 

_Put the gun down._

_He’s a little boy, Kristoff._

Fuck. 

. 

. 

. 

Sunlight has started to break through the thick curtains by the time that Anna returns to the room, and she startles at the sight of him sat in the leather chair, pushed away from his desk. He knows he must look like a mess – his hair still damp from the shower, shirtless, only a pair of light grey sweatpants hanging on his hips – and he doesn’t doubt from the small gasp that slips out of her mouth that she was either expecting him to be sleeping, or to not be in the room at all. 

She takes her time moving around the room. He refuses to look up at her, just listens as she pads around, as she opens and closes drawers, wanders in and out of the bathroom; and then, before he can process it, she’s stood before him. She’s changed into one of her faded blue nightdresses that falls to her knees, and Kristoff can’t even find it within him to smile at the sight of her bare toes. 

He doesn’t know how she manages to get so close to him; but he’s incredibly tired, now, mentally and emotionally drained, and he thinks that that must be why he doesn’t so much as flinch in surprise when she tentatively raises her hands to his face. 

She sighs as her palms gently move to cup his jaw, and he moves without protest as she tilts his head back, a silent encouragement for him to look up at her. 

He can’t meet her eyes, though. 

“You’re cold,” she says to him, her voice soft and low, and Kristoff scoffs as he turns his head in her hands ever so slightly. He glares down at the floor, brows knotted together. 

“I’m fine,” he bites out – his tone harsher than he intended it to be – and he notices her frown from where she leans over him. 

The sensation of her slowly running her thumbs over his cheeks takes him by surprise; the tenderness of her touch taking him back to the first night that she kissed him, when she caressed his face in a way that’s not dissimilar to this, and he swallows thickly at the memory. He moves, then; sheepishly drags his gaze over to her, though he keeps his expression as neutral as he possibly can and allows her own eyes to roam over his features. 

She looks tired, he thinks; dark coloured bags looming underneath her reddened eyes, and guilt stirs within him at the memory of his harsh, biting tone and his useless attempt at commanding her earlier on. 

“You were a real asshole tonight, you know,” she murmurs, and Kristoff’s shoulders sag slightly as he lets out a long, deep breath. 

_She’s not fucking wrong._

“Anna -” 

“No,” she interrupts, firmly cutting him off with a hard glare. His mouth immediately snaps shut – he doesn’t know what he was going to say to her, anyway; no doubt something that would just piss her off even more – and Kristoff lowers his eyes as she shakes her head and huffs out a breath. “You _were._ And that was _before_ you came to Yelena’s cabin.” 

He feels smaller than he cares to admit, with her holding his face like this; and he thinks of how he would have preferred to her to come back screaming and ranting and raving, heated with passion and spitting out endless words of fury and hate. He’s certain that he would have preferred that to the even, _dis_ _appointed_ tone that she’s taking now. 

He needs to tell her, he thinks, but he doesn’t know how. Isn’t sure how he’s supposed to formulate the words when he doesn’t even fully understand the feelings, yet. It’s not as though he had a poor example of a loving relationship – he knows that his father loved his ma more than anything in the world, but all that he did was train him on how to be a Captain. 

He never taught him anything about being a husband. 

_I’m scared of what this feeling means,_ he could say to her; but then comes _what feeling,_ and he doesn’t know how to articulate it, yet. 

_I don’t want to lose you,_ he could confess; but then comes _why,_ and he doesn’t know the answer to that, either. 

Or maybe he does, and maybe that’s the worst part of all. 

“I just wanted –” 

“I know what you wanted,” she says, interrupting him again, and Kristoff doesn’t miss the way in which her jaw hardens as she stares down at him. “And I know why you were worried. I _get it,_ okay? I understand. This is your ship, your _men_ , and Olaf is an infection risk . I t’s fine that you were concerned about that. But Kristoff, I – you – you held a _gun_ to him. Don’t you think that’s a little - I don’t know, over-dramatic?” 

“It was just – I don’t know, _fuck._ Instinct,” he weakly defends, though he still doesn’t meet her eyes, and Anna sighs. 

“I know that you don’t want him here,” she continues, ignorant of his poor defense, “but Kristoff – he's just a little boy. A little boy who’s been left to fend for himself on that tiny boat, with his dead parents in the other room for god knows how long.” 

He swallows again, then, and he struggles in his mind as to how he’s supposed to explain any of this to her. He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to make her see that he’s not some heartless, horrible person; that he’s just a dumbass who’s falling for a beautiful girl and is petrified of losing her to some fucked-up virus that comes as a result of this kid. 

“He’s just a little boy who was already scared out of his mind at the sight of a stranger; and then some hug, six-foot-something _pirate_ comes stomping in, holding up a gun to him.” 

He doesn’t move to speak again, then; doesn’t even smile at her teasing use of the word _pirate._ He just sits still and silent in her hands, lets her talk and take the time that she needs to look over his face, hopes that she finds the answers to her questions in his features. Kristoff keeps his eyes cast downwards and his lips in a firm line, and _fuck,_ he feels so _stupid;_ and he can’t get the image of the little boy trembling violently under the table out of his mind. 

“You gave me the choice, and I chose to stay here with you,” she says to him, then, and Kristoff’s heart rate quickens as it drops into the pit of his stomach. 

His eyes immediately fly up to meet with hers, and his jaw softens as his mouth opens to speak, but no words come. He doesn’t know what to say to her, despite his panic; because _fuck,_ if she leaves him now, then he doesn’t know what he’ll do – if she’s changed her mind because of this, then he’ll never forgive himself for forcing her out, for pushing her out of the door and effectively slamming it shut behind her, too. 

Not when he was so close to having her as his own. Not when this fire that they had lit was just starting to burn on its own. 

“But now,” she continues, a look on her face that he can’t decipher, “now, _you_ need to choose.” 

His mouth is dry as his heart continues to thunder within his chest, and he blinks slowly up at her, then; a silent question. 

“Are you my husband, or are you my Captain?” 

Well. He wasn’t expecting _that._

He inhales a shaky breath as he shakes his head slightly in her hands. “Both, I –” 

“ _No,”_ she tells him, firm and hard and fast. “You’re not. You _can’t_ be both, Kristoff; you have to choose.” 

He swallows thickly as he continues to look up at her. _Anna._

It’s funny, how little time can pass by and change someone in the process. He can’t imagine his life without her, now – doesn't _want_ to remember what it was like just a short four weeks ago, before her. Before she lay beside him in bed each night, before sword fighting and longing gazes, before hands brushing and shoulders bumping, before lazy kisses and morning breath, before _this._

He’s so happy, now; smiling and laughing more than he has done since his father died – before then, even – and he doesn’t want to go back to a time without all of those things. He doesn’t want to go back to life before Anna. 

“I’m your husband,” he says, voice uneven and unsteady and thick with emotion. 

He doesn’t miss the way in which her expression softens, and she lets out a little breath – surprised, perhaps; though he thinks that she’s insane if she genuinely. believed that there was a chance he might have opted for the alternative – and her lips quirk just a touch. 

“That’s what I thought,” she murmurs, and despite the tension in the air, he can’t help but smirk a little at her response. 

He holds her gaze for a long moment, then, and it’s strange – he can’t recall the last time that he ever had to apologise to someone. It’s not something that comes in the territory when you’re a Captain of a ship like this, but Kristoff thinks that it’s certainly something that comes in the territory of a being a husband, so. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice barely above a whisper, and now, she _does_ grin. 

“I know,” she smiles at him, and her thumbs stroke over his cheeks once more. Kristoff turns his head ever so slightly so that he can press a soft, gentle kiss against the inside of her palm, and he doesn’t miss the way in which her breath hitches as that. 

There’s more that she’ll want to say to him about this, he’s sure; but he just wants her close, now, wants his hands on her skin and her mouth on his, and they can work out the finer details of it all later, when they’ve indulged in one another and slept and been fed. 

“Anna,” he murmurs, his voice low as his grip on the armchair relaxes, “can I kiss you?” 

Her smile grows wider, then; and she nods her head in confirmation before she steps closer into his open legs, the side of her thighs brushing against his knees. Kristoff’s impatient, though, and more than hungry for her touch, so he pushes his tongue out to wet his dry lips before he tilts his head further back and stretches up, hovering a little above the seat of the chair so that he can close the distance between their lips. 

Anna lets out a surprised noise at the hurried union, though she grins against his mouth as she releases his face and moves to tangle her fingers into the damp hairs at the nape of his neck. He’s tired, and he knows she is, too; but he’s more than content to leisurely explore her mouth, to offer up his tongue as an apology, to use his kiss in order to convey all of the things that he feels, but cannot say, and it appears as though she’s more than willing to accept him. 

His hands find purchase on her slender waist, and she sighs happily into his mouth as he squeezes her hips over the soft material of her nightdress. She strokes her tongue against his, a gentle, teasing motion that has him groaning into her mouth, and Anna giggles at the sound. Her light laughter interrupts the lazy rhythm of their kiss, though Kristoff smiles as her hands snake down the back of his neck and come to rest on either side of his bare shoulders. 

“You’re warming up,” she smiles from above him, and Kristoff chuckles as he steals another chaste kiss. 

“I can’t imagine why,” he retorts, and Anna hums at that before her eyes flutter open. 

He blinks lazily up at her, his own dark eyes casually exploring the freckles that dance over the bridge of her nose whilst she runs her fingernails over his bare skin, and he softens beneath her touch when she moves to brush the tip of her nose against his. It’s a simple, affectionate gesture that has him smiling; but his stomach clenches tightly, too, and Kristoff swallows thickly as he leans into her. 

Her hot breath spans across his face as she exhales, and _shit –_ he's so far gone on this girl, it’s not fair. 

“Come on,” she says to him, and he’s already moving to follow her before she even finishes her sentence, “let’s get some sleep.” 

He knows for certain that there’s no way he would have been able to sleep without her being here, and he physically relaxes against the mattress as she slots against him. Anna wiggles backwards until her back is pressed firmly against his bare chest, and he buries his face into her hair whilst he simultaneously wraps his arms tightly around her waist. 

There’s that feeling, again – the unfamiliar clench in his abdomen that seems to be coming more and more – and Kristoff wants to tell her, but he still doesn’t know how, still isn’t sure that he knows what it means. 

“Goodnight,” he says instead, and Anna hums. 

“Just think,” she yawns, “when we wake up, you can finally meet Olaf.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anna had to truly find a way to separate Kristoff from Captain Kristoff; and not just for herself, but for him, too. I wanted that to happen BEFORE they take their physical relationship any further 
> 
> & also, he's spent the last 20 chapters or whatever referring to her as HIS WIFE. It's about time that Anna finally had some confirmation / claim over him - right? Hehehe


	21. Chapter 21

It’s strange – sleeping and waking in the middle of the day. It’s something that she avoided, even at the end of the world as she knew it; and she has grown accustomed to being wrapped up in the darkness of this room, now, so the afternoon sunlight that streams through the barrier of the curtains disturbs her ability to get much rest. 

Anna yawns as she nuzzles further into her pillow, and a slow smile tugs at her lips at the sound of Kristoff snoring quietly from where he rests behind her. 

He’s never held her like this, before. Usually, she’s positioned the other way round, with her face buried in his neck and his chin resting on top of her head, and she finds that this feels a little more – _intimate_. Her back is pressed up against his solid, bare chest, and his arm is draped over her middle, and Anna finds that she much prefers the warmth of his arms to the warmth of the blankets, anyway. 

Kristoff’s knees are bent behind her own, and their legs are all intertwined so that his toes brush against hers. Anna’s smile grows wider as she snuggles further against him; happy and cozy and comfortable, safe and secure and – 

Her eyes widen, then. 

Kristoff’s still fast asleep – his snores confirmation of that fact – but there is one part of him that is very much awake. 

Anna’s mouth goes dry at the thought. 

She’s seen one, before – a long time ago, though; before fatal car crashes and planned six-week vacations and a global pandemic. It was his sixteenth birthday, and she hadn’t long had her own, and it wasn’t as though she had necessarily committed the shape and size of the poor boy to her memory, but she can already tell just from the outline of Kristoff that he’s – _different_. 

She thinks about the arm that he’s got draped over her waist; warm, and soft, and big _,_ and she bites down on her lip as she moves carefully , hoping not to wake him. His large palm is resting loosely around her lower abdomen, and Anna rests her hand over his. Her nails instinctively begin to trace the pattern of her name over the back of his hand, and she’s reminded of _before._

Slowly – so, so slowly – Anna begins to explore him. Her nails traipse against his golden skin as she brushes her fingers up and down the length of his forearm, all the way to his elbow, then back; the soft hairs gently kissing her skin. He continues to snore and breathe evenly behind her, lost in dreaming and blissfully unaware of her lazy inspection, and she swallows thickly as she marvels at the size of his wrist. 

She recalls the way in which she felt when she first laid eyes upon him – how she had been unsure of what he might want, or expect, from her as his wife; and how she had been certain that he would break her in two. She feels much the same, now, as she attempts to wrap her hand around his wrist. 

No matter how she angles it, it’s not possible for her to be able to get her thumb to come anywhere close to meeting with any of her fingers due to the sheer size of him. 

She shifts against him once more – an experimental wiggle that has the length of him firmly slotting against her back – and Anna’s eyes widen impossibly more. 

_That man could get you pregnant just from the way that he looks at you._

She thinks that she might need to speak to Yelena about this – sooner rather than later. 

. 

. 

. 

Anna doesn’t know what she was expecting, but she certainly wasn’t prepared to find Mattias in Yelena’s cabin. 

Her light eyes widen dramatically at the sight of them. They look – well, _normal,_ really; sitting comfortably across from one another, but Anna knows that she’s interrupted something, then, knows from the look on their faces (mainly Mattias’) that she’s stumbled upon something that she shouldn’t have. 

“Oh!” she breathes, a blush rising to her cheeks. “I’m sorry – I didn’t realise – I'll come back, another time,” she just about manages to stutter out, but Mattias quickly moves to stand as she continues to hover awkwardly in the doorway. 

“No, no!” he says, and he clears his throat whilst making a point of brushing down his clothes. “I was –” his eyes flicker to Yelena’s, “just leaving, actually.” 

Anna’s eyes drop down to the half-full mug of tea in his hands, and Mattias follows her gaze. He clears his throat once again before he quickly strides over towards the sink and rushes to pour the liquid down it. 

“Thanks for the tea, Yelena,” he says as he leaves the dirty mug in the sink, though he doesn’t so much as turn to glance at the older woman as he hurries towards the doorway. He nods at Anna – smiles a little, but it doesn’t quite meet his eyes – before he disappears from the cabin, closing the door behind him. 

Anna lingers in the doorway, confused. 

That was – _odd._

“Did you need something?” Yelena asks as she takes a long drag of her tea, and Anna inhales a long breath before she corrects herself; smiling softly and nodding as she steps further into the cabin. 

“I was – wondering,” Anna starts, rolls the words around on her tongue, “if - um. You might have some... some _books._ That I could borrow. Or, I don’t know, just _look at,_ if not.” 

Yelena eyes her suspiciously. She takes a long, exaggerated sip of her tea before she cocks a brow. “What kind of books?” 

Anna’s cheeks burn a deep shade of crimson, and she can feel her ears burning, too. She’s certain that Yelena knows what kind of books she means, without having to say anything at all. Surely the mortified expression on her face tells her all that she needs to know. 

“Well,” Anna starts, “I was thinking, um.” 

She clears her throat, braces her shoulders back. 

She fights through the blush on her cheeks and the overwhelming urge to turn her back and run straight out of the door. She’s not doing anything wrong – she's an (almost) nineteen-year-old woman who wants to have sex with her handsome husband. 

Surely, she can ask Yelena for a book. 

“Something about – the human body,” she blurts out. “You know – anatomy. Specifically, _male_ anatomy.” 

Yelena honest-to-god grins. 

. 

. 

. 

“Anna,” Kristoff whines, “come _on._ This is so –” 

She quickly turns on her heel, pivoting suddenly so that she’s facing him, and Kristoff’s weak protests die in his throat as soon as he locks eyes with her. 

They’re here, now; positioned outside of the door that will take them into Olaf’s room, and it takes a lot of self-control for Anna not to smile at the long, over-dramatic sigh that escapes Kristoff’s lips at the look that she gives him. 

She ignores his theatrics and instead focuses on the fond feeling that blooms within her chest whenever she’s around him. It’s a radiating glow that fills her with warmth, and she likes it – wants it to stay. 

(Knows that it will). 

Kristoff looks at her for a long moment before his shoulders eventually sag, and all light laughter and teasing whines aside, she knows that deep down, he really is uncomfortable with the whole idea of meeting Olaf. She opens her mouth to reassure him, but he beats her to it, and the sound of his voice surprises her, a little. 

Her husband isn’t _mute,_ by any means; but she wouldn’t exactly proclaim him to be a man of many words, either. 

“I’m no good with kids,” he tells her, his voice soft, quieter. He runs a hand through his hair and over his face, and she can see the agitation building within him. 

He’s nervous, she thinks. 

“ _Fuck_ – you’ve seen it yourself. I’m just gonna screw this up and scare him all over again.” 

She doesn’t fight the smile, now; and she instinctively reaches out to him, places one of her hands flat against his dark tunic. His heart beats steadily beneath her touch, and he lowers his eyes, blinks curiously at her hand. 

These affectionate touches are getting easier, too. 

“Kristoff,” she breathes, shakes her head a little at him as he looks back up at her, “you’re not going to scare him, okay? If I thought that you were, then I wouldn’t have even suggested you coming to have dinner with us.” 

Anna doesn’t truly understand why this is even something that she’s suggested he does, but it feels like it might be something that’s important to her. There’s something that burns deep within her that almost _needs_ him to do this, and if he can’t at least _try_ to be nice to Olaf, then – 

Well. She doesn’t want to think about that. 

He _will_ try. She can see it in his eyes that he will – even if it is only for her benefit. 

“I don’t want to push you into doing something that you don’t want to do,” she tells him, her voice low, now, and she doesn’t miss the way in which his dark eyes narrow ever so slightly at her. “But - this is something that’s important. To me.” 

She waits patiently as he looks down at her, his gaze hard and intense. She means it – if this really isn’t something that he wants to do, then she’s not going to push it anymore, but she has a feeling that it would mean that she interrupted Yelena and Mattias’ earlier conversation for nothing. 

“Alright,” he relents, his shoulders sagging further, “let’s get this over with.” 

She grins, pleased, and she acts on impulse again as she swings herself forward onto her tip toes and presses a soft, quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. His eyes widen at her affection, though she’s dropped back down to her normal height and has turned to knock on the door before he can say anything about it. 

Anna smiles over her shoulder at him as she pushes the door open a crack, and then she slips her hand into his – gives it a reassuring squeeze – as they step into the room together. 

He’s bundled up beneath the blankets, but he’s awake, and Anna smiles as she approaches. She lets go of Kristoff’s hand as she reaches the bed, and she slowly lowers herself down onto the corner of it. 

It doesn’t surprise her that Kristoff doesn’t move to sit down beside her. Instead, he remains stood, though he steps forward towards her and closes the distance between them so that he knees brush against his legs, and Anna fights the urge to roll her eyes at him. 

_Put the gun down, Kristoff._

_He’s just a little boy._

“Olaf, this is Kristoff. You might not remember,” she cringes – Olaf’s face has turned a ghostly white, so she’s pretty certain that he does remember, “but you already met him last night.” 

She slowly reaches out to stroke his dark bangs away from his eyes, and she doesn’t miss the way in which Kristoff tenses at the contact. She wants to roll her eyes once more – she understands that he’s worried, but she’s already had the vaccine, and he knows it – but she manages to restrain herself once more, though she tilts her head slightly so that she can lock eyes with him. 

“Kristoff is the Captain of this ship,” she continues, “and he takes good care of all of us. Keeps us all safe.” 

Anna watches the way in which he shuffles beneath the intensity of her gaze. She realises then that she’s never really praised him before, and she doesn’t miss the way in which he heaves in a particularly long breath, or the way that the tops of his cheeks flush pink. 

“And he wanted to come and say hello to you, again.” 

Kristoff stands completely still – all hard and stiff and tense – with his arms crossed tightly over his chest and his lips rolled into a thin, firm line; and Anna quickly jerks her head towards Olaf and cocks an expectant brow at him. The blonde lets out a sharp huff as he looks around the room before he relents and lowers himself down onto one knee. 

She can tell that he’s keeping his distance from Olaf whilst also making a point of remaining close to her, and Anna smiles softly as she drops her hand away from the little boy’s hair and leans backwards once again. The change in her position means that her shoulders brush against Kristoff’s, and Anna leans a little further into him. 

Kristoff clears his throat before he speaks. “Uh - hi, Olaf,” he says, and Anna’s smile warms at the gentle tone that he uses. 

_He’s trying,_ she thinks. 

She knew that he would. 

“Kristoff wanted to meet you properly, today,” she continues, and she finds herself reaching out to loop her arm through his. Kristoff stiffens for a moment, then relaxes as her palm comes to rest gently on his arm. “He’s been really looking forward to it. And he wanted to know if we’d join him for dinner.” 

Out of her peripheral, she spots the way in which Kristoff narrows his eyes at her, but Anna watches with a knowing smile as Olaf pulls the covers away from him and pushes himself further up the bed. “He - he did?” he asks, those blue eyes wide, but not so worried anymore, and Anna nods her head before she looks expectantly at Kristoff. 

He hesitates for a moment – his eyes locked on hers – but then he swallows thickly. “Yeah,” he nods, “sure. Of course I – uh – of course I do. Did?” 

Anna hums happily despite the confused expression on his face – an encouraging noise, she hopes – and she returns her attention to Olaf. “What do you say, Olaf? Would you like to get something to eat, with the Captain?” 

The little boy flashes them a toothy smile, and Anna feels Kristoff’s upper body relax from where his arm is still pressed against her. 

. 

. 

. 

Anna brings one of her hands to her lips in an attempt to hide her bright smile as she watches Frederik reveal the ships ‘top secret stash’ of chocolate to an amazed Olaf. 

“Woah,” the little boy gasps, his eyes lit up in glee. “How come it’s top-secret?” he asks, and the sound of Kristoff chuckling from where he stands to her left surprises her. 

“Because it if wasn’t, then Anna would eat it all,” he tells the boy with a smirk, and her light eyes widen before she nudges him playfully. 

Her heart rate increases dramatically, though, and she grins even wider at the comment. It seems so silly, really; but she just can’t quite believe that he remembered. About the chocolate. 

She only mentioned it to him once. 

Olaf laughs along with Kristoff and Frederik, although he’s soon distracted by something else further down the kitchen, and the head chef is more than happy to oblige him. It turns out that not everyone on the ship is as distrusting of children as Kristoff had originally implied. 

Anna looks up at him with a curious expression, then; her eyes dancing over the stubble that’s already beginning to grow on his jawline, and she sighs happily before she speaks. “Thank you for this,” she murmurs, her voice low, and she tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. 

It shouldn’t mean that much – him remembering. But it does. 

Kristoff grunts, but doesn’t say anything else straight away; but then she continues to gaze up at him with soft eyes and a warm smile, and he shifts a little under her scrutiny before he eventually casts his eyes down to look at her. 

“Yeah, well,” he comments with a casual shrug of his shoulders. He doesn’t finish the sentence – just continues to look on her – but Anna thinks that she knows what that shrug and the look in his eyes means, now. 

_Only you,_ he had said to her; and the context was different, but the underlying meaning is still very much the same, and she feels euphoric as she stands beside him. That fond feeling has returned within her chest, and she’s overwhelmed with the sudden urge to kiss him. 

So, that’s what she does. 

(She doesn’t question these impulses. Not anymore.) 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is your final warning about the E rating. 
> 
> see u next chapter! hehe


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't even re-read this at this point cause I'm blushing too hard. Lmao

It’s late, by the time that he returns to their quarters, and Anna wakes to the feel of strong, warm arms wrapping around her middle and pulling her close. A confused – but overall pleased – noise escapes her throat at the surprise contact, but Kristoff shushes her softly, and the feel of his lips ghosting over her temple as he settles her back against his chest has her smiling. 

“Go back to sleep,” he murmurs, “we have a busy day tomorrow.” 

She yawns, stretches against him and sighs. “Tomorrow?” she asks, the word slurred; and he chuckles as he presses another chaste kiss to her skin. 

“Norway,” he whispers; the word so full of wonder and promise, and Anna sighs contentedly before she returns to sleep. 

. 

. 

. 

Anna wakes with a sharp gasp, her cheeks flushed pink and her heart thundering violently within her chest. Her eyes blink open wide into the darkness of the room, though the bright light of the full moon manages to slip through some of the gaps in the curtains that line the wall behind the four-poster bed. 

She attempts to focus on the way in which the ship rocks back and forth against the waves – thinks that it might be enough to lull her back to sleep – but it’s difficult to focus on the motion of the sea when her clit continues to pulsate as rhythmically as her heart. 

Behind her, Kristoff shuffles just a little. She’s moved away from him – tossed and turned, no doubt on account of her feverous dream – and he flattens his palm against her abdomen and practically yanks her back to him. Another gasp escapes her lips as her back meets with the solid outline of his chest, and she squeezes her eyes to a close as she attempts to ground herself. 

It’s difficult to plan these kind of things, she knows – takes all the fun out of them, she guesses – but she certainly hadn’t planned for _tonight,_ hence the plain white nightdress and the cotton panties. Evidently, her subconscious had other ideas, and she doesn’t have to squeeze her thighs together to know how damp her underwear is just from the picture her imagination conjured of his thick fingers stroking into her. 

She squirms, then; can’t help herself but move against him, even though she knows that she’s causing him to stir, too. _It’s not real,_ she tells herself as she tries to push the memory of her dream away; but it’s certainly real now, now that he’s _there,_ surrounding her with his strong arms and broad chest and warm, golden skin, now that he’s pressed so tightly against her that she can feel his hot breath on her neck and the hardening length of him through his sweatpants. 

She wants him. She wants him so much that it _hurts._

It’s not wise, she thinks, making choices like this when she’s half-asleep, when she’s tense and worked up and already wet just from dreams of his hands dipping into her dripping folds, but she reasons with herself that it’s inevitable all the same. She thinks of his soft, wet kisses, thinks of lazy mornings and tangled legs, thinks of _I’m so proud of you_ and _only you_ and _I’m your husband –_

So why not tonight, then? 

This man will do anything for her – she knows that, now. Not just _I’ll kill him_ or _you’re officially pardoned_ _,_ but _hi, Olaf,_ and her heart clenches at the memory of his face in her hands, of his dark eyes cast down to the floor, of _I’m sorry_ and _can I kiss you;_ and Yelena told her earlier that there are other things that couples can do in order to ease their way into things when they’re uncertain, but Anna knows now that she doesn’t want _other things._

Anna knows that he’ll give her whatever it is that she wants. 

And Anna wants her husband inside of her. 

She can tell by the way in which his snores have softened and his breathing has altered that her movements have indeed started to lure him from his dreams, much like that of a sirens song, and she bites down on her lip as she gives into her instincts and rocks her hips fully back against him. Yelena didn’t have any books that could tell her about _this,_ so Anna closes her eyes tightly shut and focuses on the outline of his cock pressed against her back, thinks of her damp panties and the way that it feels to have his warm, heavy hands on her skin; and she sighs softly as her hips rock once more. 

Her name falls from his tongue, then – a question, she thinks – but Anna doesn’t know how to answer, doesn’t think that she can explain this pull that she feels towards him, and so she lets out a soft hum before she thinks of the waves that carry their ship, and rocks her hips against him once again. This time, he moves against her, and a low groan rumbles through him as he rocks his hips in time with hers. 

Satisfied with his response, Anna moves herself, turns over in his arms so that she’s facing him, the way that they grew accustomed to lying at first; and she sighs softly as her hands reach out to hold the line of his masculine jaw. She’s never felt anything like him, before; skin so soft and smooth yet hard all at once, and she doesn’t hesitate to pull him down to her, to slot her mouth against his and lick her wet tongue against his dry lips. 

He stiffens at first – surprised, no doubt, especially since he’s only just woken himself – but he quickly relaxes into the kiss, and she grins triumphantly when he licks his tongue into her mouth. Her thighs squeeze together as the action causes her clit to pulse once more, and she doesn’t know how she’s managed to contain this fire, so far, isn’t sure how on earth she resisted the urge to touch herself, but she can’t fight it anymore. 

Anna slides her tongue against his own; a lazy, unhurried movement that they’ve practiced more times that she cares to count, a dance that they’ve thoroughly mastered, but she tries something new, tonight. She raises one of her legs and shuffles her lower half further towards him, lines herself up with his bend knee and positions herself _just_ a touch higher – 

She groans into his mouth as she rocks her hips again, and she’ll be mortified in the morning at the memory of her dragging her panty-covered cunt over his thigh, but it feels so _good_ to have something solid, and strong, and _real_ to move against that she doesn’t even care. Anna brushes her thumbs against the expanse of his cheeks whilst she moves, and she whimpers happily into his mouth as she rocks against his leg. 

He had positioned his large hands on either side of her waist when she rolled over, and he squeezes her hips over the material of her nightgown whilst she writhes against him. Anna relishes in the feel of his fingers burying into her hips, but she thinks of how she needs _more,_ and she grins wickedly against his lips now that she knows somewhere that his thick fingers can be of better use. 

Dainty fingers wrap around his, and she’s reminded of her explorations earlier in the day, thoughts of his huge wrists and sturdy forearms and what they mean; and he doesn’t hesitate to move along with her, allows her to guide him underneath her nightdress. 

She could remove her underwear, of course, but it’s likely that that would involve her having to pull away from his mouth, and she’s rather enjoying the taste of his tongue as it swirls against her own. Anna doesn’t even want to consider the idea of breaking their kiss for even a moment, and so she pilots his fingers, uses them as a hook to slide her underwear over to the side, and the feel of the cool air meeting her wet lips has her panting against him. 

Kristoff grunts into her mouth – the boldness of her fingers taking him by surprise – but she doesn’t want to have to whisper words of encouragement or reassurance to him; and so she moans softly before she suckles against his bottom lip, and she hopes that it’s enough of a confirmation that she wants – _needs –_ his touch, this release. 

He’s still hesitant, she thinks, but he complies to her wishes all the same; follows her lead like wonderful man that he is, and the wide grin that lights up her face when his fingertips brush against the inside of her thigh soon falters when her jaw slackens at the feel of trembling fingers tracing the outline of her wet folds. 

Kristoff curses, then; and Anna so desperately wants to giggle at the sound – feels it there, loitering in her chest – but it won’t come. Instead, all she can manage is a gasp as she humps herself against his hand, though he doesn’t rush. He continues to lick slowly into her mouth whilst he takes his sweet time, dragging two thick fingers painfully slowly up and down the entire length of her cunt. 

Her clit continues its rhythmic pulsating as he teases her lips, and Anna near enough sobs when the calloused pads of his fingers dance against her hood. The excitement from her dream serves as the perfect lubricant, and she shivers as he carefully nudges his fingers over her sensitive bundle. 

“Is this all for me?” he murmurs against her lips, his voice thick with lust yet still underlined with shock, and Anna nods her head rapidly as she presses her palm a little harder against his jaw. 

“ _Yes,”_ she groans, and her hand squeezes tightly at his broad wrist as he drags his fingers back down the length of her. He circles over her entrance, then, and Anna’s breath hitches when he slides one long finger inside of her. 

She’s touched herself before, of course; but her own fingers are so much smaller than his – not just in their length, but in their girth, too – and Kristoff easily reaches a part of her that she didn’t even know existed. Anna sighs in relief at the feel of his finger pushing further and further into her, and _god,_ she’s not convinced that she believes Yelena at all; she really isn’t sure that she’s going to be able to handle his cock, if this is what one finger feels like. 

“Fuck, Kristoff –” 

“Watch your mouth,” he murmurs against her lips, but she feels the way in which he grins, and this time, she _does_ laugh before she meets him for another kiss. She’s not so soft, anymore, and she thrusts her tongue eagerly into his mouth whilst he drags his finger in and out of her. He gives her a moment before he adds a second digit to her tight heat, and Anna squeezes her eyes to a close and halts their kisses whilst she adjusts to the strange sensation. 

It’s not exactly unpleasant, just – unfamiliar. 

“Okay?” he whispers, and she nods her head quickly before she smiles, then resumes her passionate exploration of his mouth. Their kisses remain slow, almost lazy, and his fingers move in time with the stroke of their tongues; but she recalls the way in which he kissed her during training, remembers the way that it felt to have him pinning her against the doorway, and she gasps as she bucks her hips against his fingers. 

“Kris,” she murmurs – tries out the nickname that she heard Mattias call him, once; thinks that she likes the way that it falls out of her mouth – “god, I – I want you, so badly,” she whispers against his swollen lips, and he hisses when she releases his wrist and presses the palm of her hand firmly against the outline of his cock. The movement evidently comes as a surprise, and Anna can’t hold back a triumphant smile as he whines. 

She knew that he was huge, but actually touching him – physically cupping him, even through the sweatpants; dragging her fingers up and down the entire length of him – is a whole new kind of confirmation, and she sighs dreamily as he moves to press wet kisses against her jawline. 

She’s known for a while, now, that she holds the power between them; that whilst he’s the Captain of this ship, she’s the one who holds the cards when it comes to their relationship, and she bites down on her lip as he licks down the column of her throat. He gives her so much, without even realising; and her chest tightens at the thought. 

“Roll over,” she commands, and Kristoff does so without hesitation. 

She whines at the loss of his thick fingers from her cunt, but she knows that it’ll be worth it in just a few moments time. Her own fingers dance over the hem of her nightdress as she pushes herself up and onto her knees, and she knows that there’s enough moonlight shining through the curtains for him to be able to see the wide smile that lights up her face. 

“Take off your pants,” she orders, and he does that, too; hurries to move his hands to his waist and begins to shimmy out of the material. Anna watches intently, her mouth turning dry at the sight of his thick, hard cock. It bounces against his lower abdomen as he pushes himself up on his hands, and he sits back against the headboard, patiently waiting. 

Her light eyes dance over his face, and the sight of him thrills her. He’s so _tense;_ his jaw clenched and shoulders hunched, and the moonlight hits him in a way that has her own breath hitching. 

He’s the most beautiful man that she’s ever known, and he’s _hers._

She wants him to say it, though. 

Anna’s hands slowly fall away from the hem of her nightdress, and she shuffles ever so slightly up the bed, moving closer towards him until she can easily reach his face. Her palms find their familiar spot on either side of his jaw, and Anna smiles softly as she blinks down at him. 

“You’re mine, now; aren’t you, Kristoff?” she asks, her voice soft, yet clear, and she brushes her thumbs along the outline of his cheeks, and he audibly swallows before he nods his head. 

Those dark eyes blink up at her; so open and wide, full of trust and admiration, and _love,_ she dares to think, dares to _dream,_ and she knows that if he looks close enough, then he’ll find the same feelings in her own heated gaze. Her heart pounds as she looks down at him, this man who she loathed entirely and now wants more than anything in this world, and her pulsating cunt is the only thing stopping her from spilling her soul out to him there and then. 

“Tell me,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper, now; and Kristoff’s breath hitches before he responds without any reluctance or hesitation. 

“I’m yours,” he declares, “ _fuck,_ Anna; I always have been.” 

She smiles, then; a wide, happy smile, and she moves to brush the tip of her nose against his. It’s an affectionate gesture – somehow more intimate than what they’ve already done – and that fond feeling that she has for him returns, swells in her chest and radiates out. 

“I want you inside of me,” she says to him, and she slowly drags her hands down the side of his neck and comes to rest them on his wide shoulders. She bites down on her lip as her eyes trail over his face, and even the darkness of the room illuminated only by the moon can’t mask the flush of his cheeks. “Can we?” 

“Are you serious?” he murmurs, disbelief evident in his tone, and Anna giggles before she kisses him softly. 

She drops her hands from his shoulders so that she can shimmy out of her cotton panties and makes quick work of discarding them. Anna can practically hear her heartbeat drumming in her ears as she moves to straddle him, and Kristoff’s hands instinctively find purchase on either side of her hips whilst she hovers over the length of him, not quite settling herself down against his cock just yet. His fingers trail over the material of her nightdress – a question, she thinks; seeking permission, as always – and Anna nods her head. 

“Take it off,” she tells him, and he does. 

He stares at her for a moment, slack-jawed and open-mouthed, and it’s Anna’s turn to flush underneath his heated gaze. 

“Anna,” he whispers, her voice a prayer, a _plea;_ and her breath hitches at the sound. “Can I touch you? I –” 

“Yes,” she confirms, near enough _begs,_ and she groans happily when his large hands move to cup both of her breasts. She has always been conscious of the size of her breasts, but he handles them so tenderly, so perfectly, and for the first time, Anna thinks of how wonderful it is that they fit so easily in his large hands; thinks of how nice it is to feel him squeeze the entirety of her soft skin. 

She relaxes underneath his touch, and she sighs happily as he places a soft kiss to her sternum. “Beautiful,” he murmurs, his lips dancing over her skin, “ _so_ beautiful, Anna, I can’t –” 

“I want you to take me,” she interrupts, and she finally allows her body to sink fully on top of him, presses the outline of her dripping cunt against his hard cock. It serves as a stark reminder to her of just how much larger he is than her, and despite the confidence that she feels, towering over him like this, she still feels awfully small. 

He hisses loudly at the contact, and Kristoff drops one of his hands from her breast so that he can move it against her folds. “You’re going to be the death of me, you know,” he whispers before he moves to suckle one of her pebbled nipples into his mouth, and Anna gasps loudly at the feel of his wet mouth exploring her sensitive peak. One of her hands slides into the back of his hair, and she grasps tightly at the fair strands in encouragement. 

Kristoff wets his fingers with her juices, and she lowers her eyes so that she can watch as he rubs the evidence of her slick cunt over his cock. She whines at the sight and finds herself bucking her hips instinctively into the air. 

She feels awfully empty without his fingers inside of her, but she doesn’t want his fingers anymore. 

Anna leans further over him, then; her hair fanning over her shoulders and tickling his bare skin, and she grins down at him whilst she trails the pad of her thumb over his parted lips. Her heart swells as she blinks down at him, and Anna knows that this will change them, now, that this union will mean something that proclaimed titles of _husband_ and _wife_ never could. 

“You’re so good to me, Kristoff,” she murmurs as she rocks against him, her eyes fluttering to a close as her clit pulses against the dripping head of his cock. “So, _so_ good.” 

“ _Anna,”_ he groans, but she won’t stop; not when he’s squeezing his eyes tightly shut and pulling his bottom lip between his teeth and tensing underneath her gentle caress. 

He likes this, she thinks; enjoys her praise, even if his natural instinct is to shy away from it, and she presses a soft, wet kiss against his parted lips as she rocks against the length of his cock once more. 

“You _are,”_ she insists, and he whines as he plunges his fingers into her centre once again. Anna gasps as he pumps them in and out, quicker than before; as he twists them around and opens them apart. 

Preparing her, she thinks. 

“I want you inside of me, now,” she whispers to him, and Kristoff nods his head quickly as he blinks up at her. He slowly pulls his fingers away from her – drags them up her lips, pinches at her clit briefly in a way that has her gasping – and then raises his hand to his lips. 

Anna watches with wide eyes as he slowly inserts his two wet fingers into his mouth, as he hollows his cheeks and _sucks;_ and she groans softly as her walls clench at the sight of him savouring her taste. She wishes she was a more patient person, wishes she could soothe her desire long enough to allow him the chance to explore her with his tongue the same way that he has done with his fingers; but she needs him inside of her more than she’s ever needed anything in her life, and she knows that they have time for other things. 

His lashes flutter against his cheeks as he moans, and Anna thinks of how perfect he is; of how he gives her this, of how she feels so powerful and strong and in control as she straddles him. 

She loves him, she thinks. 

“I need you,” she says, and she doesn’t wait any longer before she begins to sink down against his length. 

Like his fingers, it’s not necessarily unpleasant so much as it is unfamiliar, the way that his cock fills her. She breathes deeply as she slowly lowers herself down onto his length, inch by inch, and she leans her forehead against his own as she pushes through the stinging and the burning. She whimpers as he stretches her, as his fingers twitch against her hips, and she can tell from his tense, trembling body that he’s trying his best to remain still for her; and she thinks of how good he is, again. 

“You’re perfect,” she whispers, peppers his cheeks with her kisses as she continues to lower herself down the length of him, “god, _Kristoff_ , you’re so _good.”_

She still isn’t convinced about him not splitting her into two, but _god,_ even if she can’t walk straight for a week, it’s worth it. 

He breathes in time with her; deep, ragged pants that shake through him, and he whines soft and low when she finally sinks down the entire length of him. Kristoff tilts his head back slightly, granting her better access to him, and she doesn’t hesitate to slot her hot mouth against his own, to stroke her tongue against his as she experimentally rocks her hips. 

He groans into her mouth – an approving sound that has her clit pulsating once more – and his fingers dig further into her waist as she repeats the motion. Anna tilts her jaw so that she can deepen their kiss as she slowly begins to ride him, rocking against him in a slow, easy rhythm that doesn’t take long for her to master, and she nods approvingly when he snakes his arms around her hips and kneads his hands into her ass cheeks. 

“Show me,” he murmurs against her lips, “ _fuck,_ Anna, show me what you need.” 

She knows what he means, what he’s pleading for, and she drops one of her hands to her cunt so that she can roll her clit in between two of her fingers. There’s no way that he can see her from this angle, but he tries anyway, and Anna sighs softly before she chases his lips with her own. 

The sensation of him filling her slowly eases and becomes more pleasurable with each rock of her hips, and the added feel of her rolling and squeezing at her clit soon has her thighs trembling. She suckles on his tongue – relishes in the way that he jerks beneath her when she does – before she bounces against him; a small, experimental movement that has her grinning happily against his mouth when he moans. 

“You like that?” she purrs, and he whines against her mouth as she repeats the motion. She’s close, now; and she gets the feeling that he is, too – has the feeling that he’s been holding back for a while now, actually. “God, Kristoff,” she pants, “are you gonna come for me?” 

His hands squeeze firmly against her cheeks, and she lets out a light, excited laugh as her hips buck against her own fingers, against his cock. She’s so close that she can almost taste it, and she tilts her own head back as she rides him, the smooth rhythm of her hips faltering dramatically as her engorged clit twitches against her fingers. 

“Shit,” he murmurs, and then his lips are on her neck, “shit, shit, shit, Anna.” 

He’s begging her, she thinks, seeking permission; but she won’t let him, not yet, not when she’s so close. 

“No,” she says, squeezes her eyes to a close as she rubs more firmly at her clit. “Not – not yet, _wait,_ I – _oh.”_

She just about has the sense to throw her head forwards and bury her face into the crook of his neck before she shrieks; a long, loud sound that tears through her throat and vibrates firmly against his skin, and her hips buck wildly as she comes around the thick length of his hard cock. She whines desperately as the walls of her cunt stutter and tense, and she gasps when she eventually pulls away from his skin, her forehead damp with sweat. 

She’s still writhing her hips against him, only barely; and despite her dreamy, lazy, post-orgasmic bliss, she realises with wide eyes that he’s waited. His own eyes are squeezed tightly shut, his face contorted into a focused yet pained expression, and Anna just about has the energy to bounce against his cock before she whispers her permission to him. 

“Now,” she tells him, holds his jaw in her hands as she rocks her hips, “ _god,_ Kristoff; come for me, _please_ _._ _”_

He does. 

No sooner have the words left her mouth does he finally allow himself to come undone, and Anna gasps, a breathless, euphoric laugh escaping her lips at the unfamiliar sensation of him spilling his seed inside of her. 

She’s thankful, now, that Yelena had the sense to mention birth control; otherwise she knows for certain that she – _they –_ would have been reckless and stupid. She knows now that there’s no way that she would have ever been able to resist this feeling, to resist the gravitational pull that she feels towards him, and the blissful feel of him releasing himself into her heat would have been more than enough to make it all worth it – no matter the consequence. 

They remain there, for a while; bodies still intertwined, sweaty forehead pressed to sweaty forehead, and her trembling hands reside on either side of his face. She sighs happily as he presses lazy kisses to her mouth, and she thinks of how she can feel the difference of his length inside of her, now that he’s emptied himself. 

“Fuck,” he whispers against her lips, the sound distracting her from her thoughts, “what – where did that come from?” 

She shrugs her shoulders as she giggles at his disbelieving tone, and she leans forward to press a quick kiss to his lips before she answers. “Norway,” she tells him – a promise, she remembers – and then moans in delight when he deepens their kiss. 

She loves him, she knows. 

She’ll tell him tomorrow. 


	23. Chapter 23

Kristoff wakes to the feel of feather-soft lips peppering gentle kisses across his face, and he smiles wide, despite himself. 

One hand instinctively moves to wrap around dark red curls, and he slowly blinks his eyes open to the brilliant sight of her leaning above him; the bedsheets falling down her arms, revealing the freckled skin of her shoulders, and she smiles softly down at him as she moves to cup his face with one small hand. 

“Hey,” she whispers, leans down for a quick kiss before she straightens and grins. “How are you?” 

He knows what she’s asking him, but he’s not certain that he trusts himself to answer. How is he ever supposed to tell her that he’s finally discovered the name for the tight feeling in his chest that he gets whenever she’s around? How is he supposed to articulate it, when he’s only just learned it himself? 

He can’t. So he smirks, instead. 

“Dead,” he tells her, and _shit –_ if she’d have asked him that last night, then he really would have meant it. 

She laughs at him, and it’s worth it. 

He’ll never tire of that sound. 

. 

. 

. 

There’s something in the air, today, that puts him in a good mood; and it’s not just the memory of what happened _last night,_ it’s the sight of his home country, the sight of his ma rushing towards the docks, and he grins brightly at the sound of his name being called out into the wind . She’s so _loud,_ he can make out her voice even over the ships horn; and he fully laughs at the sight of her waving arms and excited grin. 

He knows Anna’s watching him carefully, no doubt evaluating the dynamic – she's nervous, she told him, even though he knows she has nothing to worry about in the slightest – but he’s missed her, truly, and he can’t wait for the ship to come to a halt. 

This is the longest that he’s been without seeing her, and he can already feel the warmth of her arms around his waist and the softness of her laugh as she holds him; and so he launches himself from the deck down onto the dock as soon as it’s safe enough for him to do so, and he’s getting too old for this, now, knows that one day he won’t land so softly and will break something instead, but – 

“Kristoff!” she practically screams as she rushes forward, “oh, I _missed_ you!” 

She sobs loudly and dramatically against his shirt and squeezes him tightly around the middle, and Kristoff doesn’t hesitate to hug her just as enthusiastically. He grins down at her when she finally pulls away. 

“You didn’t tell me that you were coming home!” she scolds him, though there’s a bright grin on her face and wet, happy tears still lingering on her cheeks, and he tries not to wince at the word _home._ “I had no _idea,_ there were rumours from the men who work on the docks, but I thought that – _oh,_ but then I saw the sails and I just _knew_ _–_ and oh, _baby,_ have you been eating well? You look like you’ve lost weight –” 

“Ma,” he interrupts with a laugh, a light, easy sound as he pushes her wandering hands away from his hips. She stops, then, narrows her eyes up at him suspiciously as she takes another step backwards. Sizing him up, he thinks. 

Kristoff stiffens under his mother's watchful gaze, and his eyes widen slightly when she pushes herself upright on her tip toes and raises her hands to cup either side of his face. The action isn’t overly dissimilar from the way in which Anna held him just last night, and the memory of her hot mouth on his and her hips rocking against him has his cheeks flushing pink. 

“Something’s changed in you,” she murmurs, her voice soft and low, and she cocks her head slightly to the side as she continues to inspect him. “What –” 

She follows his gaze, then; slowly retracts her hands from his face and lowers herself back down onto the soles of her feet as Kristoff straightens his back and turns back towards the ship. His eyes find hers immediately, and his breath hitches in time with his mother’s at the sight of her standing at the top of the deck, ready to descend down the ramp; dressed in her loose, black dress and long coat, the harsh wind causing her fiery curls to whip around her face, and Kristoff swallows thickly as she smiles softly over to him. 

“Kristoff,” his mother asks, her voice quieter, now, “you – you brought a _girl_?” 

He’d laugh at the disbelief in her voice, if he could. “No, ma,” he says with a shake of his head, and he grins widely as Anna’s smile turns bashful as she approaches. “I brought my wife.” 

. 

. 

. 

His mother forgets all about him, naturally. 

He allows her to have this, for a while – smiles softly as she loops her arm through Anna’s and walks her around town, taking her time to explain where everyone lives and what everyone does, and she occasionally turns to comment to him about what’s changed since he was last there (which isn’t much, really). 

He knows that it’s important that his mother gets to know Anna better. They’re only staying for a couple of days, and although the stop is mostly so that he can organise his inventory and work out their new route, he still has plans in mind for them; has been thinking more about her birthday, about how he could take her out on a small boat, about how the whales sometimes venture past the fjord this time of year, about how they might even catch the aurora, if they’re lucky – 

_Shit,_ when did he turn into such a _sap?_

(They still haven’t had an official ceremony yet, either.) 

There’s an errand that Kristoff needs to run, too; and it could probably wait until tomorrow, but he really isn’t the most patient man, and after anxious days of thinking, and planning, he’s finally ready to see it for himself. 

There are other things that he needs to do, too – he needs to take her back to the cabin where they’ll be staying, for a start, so that she can settle herself and unpack some of her belongings. He thinks that it's about time that they go shopping for her, too; that they find her some new clothes that will suit her needs more, that won’t have her shivering when the bitter sea wind kisses her pale skin. 

So, he wants a moment with Anna, before he briefly leaves. 

Luckily for him, he had a feeling that his mother might want to steal her away, and he’s been saving his trump card. 

“Ma,” he says, clears his throat as he approaches the two women from behind. He tries not to be offended about the fact that neither of them had seemed to notice his brief absence. “There’s someone else that I thought you might like to meet.” 

He grins triumphantly as his mother turns to glance at him quickly, but then does a double take; her dark eyes widening and her lips already spreading wide. Anna smiles knowingly over at him as Bulda hurries to stand, and she squeals excitedly as she moves. 

“This,” he smirks, “is Olaf.” 

. 

. 

. 

Kristoff clenches and unclenches his fists as he looks up at the wooden structure, though he physically relaxes when Anna slips her small hand into his. He pulls his eyes away from the wood and tilts his head down towards her, and he exhales the breath that he didn’t realise he had been holding as she squeezes her palm against his. 

“You never told me that you had a place, here,” Anna smiles, “it’s perfect.” 

She’s far too nice about it – it's nothing much; just a small, simple cabin that he built with his dad the summer before he turned eighteen, but it’s still something that’s his, and something that can be hers, too. 

If she wants it. 

He shuffles on the spot as he clears his throat. “We can stay in the hotel with the others, if you want,” he tells her, but Anna shakes her head slowly as she smiles up at him. 

“No,” she says, “I mean it. It’s _perfect._ ” 

_._

_._

_._

It’s exactly how he imagined that it would be, and Kristoff’s shoulders sag as he holds the gold carefully between his thumb and forefinger and raises his hand up to his face. 

“What do you think?” he asks, his voice low, though he doesn’t take his eyes away from the ring. He watches as the orange stone shimmers against the bright light that falls from the ceiling, and finds his lips quirking at the thought of her red curls. 

He knows that she’s not expecting anything, and he’s confident that Anna would be pleasantly surprised with whatever he offered to her, ring-wise; but it’s important to him that it’s perfect. It’s something that he had designed with her in mind, and he didn’t have much time to plan it out, since she only told him the date of her birthday a few days ago; but he thinks that Pabbie’s done a pretty good job of making sure that the ring is exactly how Kristoff wanted it to be. 

Mattias chuckles from where he stands to his right, watching him with a warm smile. “I think she’ll love it,” he first mate grins, “you _know_ she’ll love it.” 

Kristoff sighs as he lowers his hand, keeping his fingers pressed tightly around the gold band, and he sighs as he looks over at the older man who made this a reality. Pabbie was a busy man, and Kristoff had promised to pay him whatever he needed in order to ensure that the ring was ready in time. 

He thinks of how small it feels in his fingers, and he slowly tests it out, moves the ring over towards his pinky finger and rests it on top. The band is so tiny that it barely even rests on the very tip of his smallest finger, and Kristoff’s cheeks flush a little at the thought. 

“You’re sure that the measurements are right?” he asks as he cocks a brow at the older man, and Pabbie smiles knowingly at him from across the desk. 

“Did you measure her finger the way that I told you to?” he responds, and Kristoff nods his head once. He followed the man’s instructions as carefully as he could whilst Anna was sleeping, and he made sure to write all of the information down before he made the call. “Then it’ll fit her perfectly.” 

Kristoff casts his eyes back down to the ring again, then, still uncertain, and Pabbie lets out a soft sigh. 

“Worst case scenario, if it doesn’t fit, then just bring it straight back. I’ll have it adjusted immediately.” 

That reassures him somewhat. Kristoff doesn’t know much about rings, and he wasn’t sure whether it was a case of it being that simple, but if Pabbie says that he can make it happen... 

The blonde sighs before he closes his fist, the stone of the ring digging into the skin of his palm. “Alright,” he says, “how much?” 

He tries his best not to grimace – though Mattias laughs loudly at his expression, anyway – as he hands over his card. 

. 

. 

. 

It’s not exactly late, by the time that he returns to the cabin, though the sun has begun to set, and it’s dark enough that Anna has turned on the lights inside. 

He smirks at the sight of his cabin all lit up, and there’s that tightness in his chest once again; and he’s getting carried away with himself now, he knows, but he can’t help but think of the future, can’t help but think of what it might be like to come home to this every night. 

The weight of the ring – tucked securely into the inside pocket of his vest – is making him soft, he’s sure. 

His boots pad against the ground softly as he hurries up the slope that leads him to the cabin, and the sweet scent of something unfamiliar wafts through his nostrils as he approaches. His stomach rumbles at the smell, and that tightness in his chest grows impossibly tights as he pushes himself against the front door. He’s not used to this – he's never come back to someone, before, never mind to someone and a home-cooked meal, and he closes his eyes as he tries to savour the moment. 

The smell grows stronger as he steps over the threshold, and Kristoff’s eyes flutter to a close as he inhales deeply. “Fuck,” he breathes, smiling, “something smells good in here –” 

He startles when he opens his eyes, inhales a shaky breath, and then the gun is there in his outstretched hand before he so much as blinks or breathes again. It’s the distinct _click_ that rings through his ears when he flicks off the safety that has him realising what it is that he’s done, and Kristoff’s dark eyes widen before they narrow. 

He didn’t know how to explain this kind of behaviour to her, when she asked him; didn’t know how to put into the words the way in which his body moves and reacts before he can really process what it is that’s going on around him. Years of training has prepared him to act before he thinks, to quickly recognise a threat and eliminate it before it can harm him, but there’s more to it, he’s sure. 

_I don’t know – instinct._

Kristoff’s fingers tremble slightly as he hardens his jaw, and his dark eyes narrow at the sight of platinum hair and ice-cold eyes and ghostly white skin. _Her._

He doesn’t understand. Doesn’t know how the fuck she’s found him, found _them;_ and _shit,_ was he _really_ that obvious? Mattias didn’t seem to think that his next move was one that was too easy to predict – he would have told him, wouldn’t he, would have shot the idea down if he thought that any of them would be at risk as a result of the decision? 

If she knew that he was from here, if she somehow managed to get word that his mother was here, then did she know all along that he would return, eventually? Was she expecting him to bring Anna here so soon, or is she surprised at the level of his stupidity? 

He’s unknowingly walked right into her trap, unwittingly handed Anna back to her on a plate; and _fuck,_ he can’t lose her, not yet, he’s not _ready –_

He recognises that look in Elsa’s cold, harsh eyes. 

She’s tried to kill him once before. He has no doubt that she’ll try and do it again. 

The sound of his name being spoken so softly briefly registers in his mind, and although the gentle lure of Anna’s voice has him swallowing thickly, he can’t tear his eyes away from _her,_ can’t move even an inch as her eyes narrow at him. His heart thunders violently in his chest, and his nostrils flair as his grip on the gun tightens impossibly. 

He doesn’t trust her. Never has; not since the moment that he found her on his ship, not since she damaged his valuable stock, and especially not since she held a blade up to his throat. 

“Kristoff,” Anna says, her voice not necessarily louder, but closer; and he struggles with the urge to look at her. He catches a glimpse of her approaching from the corner of his eye, and he tracks the movement, notes that she’s carefully making her way towards him. 

She’s dragging it out, he knows, moving so slowly. Her steps are purposely careful, and _fuck,_ she doesn’t think that he’d shoot _her,_ does she? 

“Kristoff, honey,” she continues, and her arms raise ever so tentatively into the air, “put the gun down.” 

Elsa remains perfectly still from where she stands a few feet behind her sister, and Anna tilts her head slightly to one side as she slides even closer towards him. She’s near enough standing directly before him, now, and Kristoff doesn’t miss the way in which her fiery curls sway with the cock of her head, and _shit,_ she just wants him to look at her; and he’s tempted, he is, just to steal a glance. 

Just one glance at the woman he loves. 

Her hands are on his face, now, trembling as her thumbs gently trail over his cheeks, and she’s scared, he can feel it, _he’s scaring her,_ and _fuck,_ when did she get so close? 

Kristoff inhales another shaky breath through his lips, though his jaw is clenched so tightly that he thinks it might break, if he continues; but her thumbs roll over the lines of his cheekbones once more, and she whispers his name so softly – begging him, now – and he can’t resist it, can’t resist the way that she pulls him in. 

His dark eyes soften, and he looks down at her, sees the tears in her eyes and the fear on her face as she blinks up at him. 

“Put the gun down,” she repeats, her bottom lip wobbling as she breathes out the command. 

Like the idiot that he is, he listens. 

The shot rings out, and he just about catches the horrific sound of her pained scream before he stumbles to the floor. 

_Only you_ _._

_I’m your husband._

_I’m yours. I always have been._

He knew it, all along – from the moment that he first saw her, Kristoff knew that she’d be the death of him. 

He just wishes he could have at least given her the ring, first. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> remember when I said that Elsa wasn't going to be the bad guy in this story? yeah, I changed my mind. sorry lmao
> 
> also if ur in the discord then u may have seen me say that something bad happens in Norway - I just want to take the time to clarify that this is not the bad thing that happens in Norway. Sorry again 😭😂


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU FOR TRUSTING ME I PROMISE I'LL FIX IT

He wakes with a quick, ragged gasp; his dark eyes flying open into bright, white light, but there’s nothing else, nothing _more,_ and it leaves him hollow. Someone towers above him, but he can’t see who – just an outline of some unknown body. 

Someone that’s not _her._

He can’t think about the _who_ or the _why_ or the _how._ There’s a shooting pain at the side of his head, just above his ear; a dull ache that throbs in time with the pounding of his heart, but the burning of his flesh is nothing compared to the deep-rooted panic that stirs within his gut at the memory of cold, blue eyes, of one loud gunshot, of Anna’s horrified scream – 

_Anna._

Her name falls from his tongue as he struggles to catch his breath, and there are hands on his face, now; but they don’t feel right, don’t feel anything at all like the soft weight of her small palms, and he yanks his head free as he calls for her once more. His voice is louder this time – not as broken, or soft, or weak – and he tries it again, and again and again, thinks that if he roars out her name as loud and hard and strong as he can, then she might return to him. 

_He knows she won’t._

“Captain –” 

_Yelena,_ he thinks, though he can’t see her; can only see the gun in his trembling hands, and _fuck,_ why did he _listen,_ why did he put down his gun, what the hell is _wrong_ with him, didn’t his father teach him _anything –_

“Kris, come on, now, calm down – what _gun?”_

_Mattias,_ he’s sure, further away but still very much there; and _shit,_ where did she take her, where has she gone, that _fucking –_

“Kristoff –” 

_His ma_ , he knows, hears her sobbing somewhere distant, somewhere far away; and _christ_ _,_ he has to get out of here, has to go and find her before it’s too late, before there’s no disturbed ground or fresh trail to track her by – 

He tries his best to push himself upright, but there’s a heavy weight on his shoulders that shoves him back down. A sharp grunt tears through him as he fights against firm hands, and as he squeezes his eyes tightly to a close, he wishes desperately to see her, then; even if it’s just the once, even if it’s for the last time, before her sister whisks her away for good, but _god,_ just let him see her. 

Perhaps if he wills it hard enough, perhaps if he cries and begs on his knees, then he might get the chance just to look at her again – 

It’s no use. Nothing comes to him. No sign of her, no enlightening vision to guide him to wherever she might be. 

No soft giggles, no tender kisses. No fluttering eyelashes and rocking hips. No _you’re perfect_ or _you’re mine_ or _tell me_ or – 

_I’m going to stay with you._

She promised. 

But she’s not here. She’s gone. 

And all that he sees is bright white light. 

. 

. 

. 

The next time that he wakes, it’s a little easier for him to breathe; and although the white light still fights against his eyes, he can at least see a little clearer, now that he’s managed to get some rest. 

He’s also able to push himself upright on his forearms, this time – no hands there to fight against him – though he winces as the side of his head throbs at the motion. He instinctively lifts a hand to it, and his roughened fingertips meet with cool nylon and jagged tape as he runs them over the expanse of the makeshift bandage. 

No bullet hole, he thinks. Must have skimmed past the side of his head. 

He can almost picture Yelena rolling her eyes about all the fuss. 

He swallows, his throat dry, and he winces as he looks around the small room. It takes him a beat to fully recall where he is, and why – 

\- and then there’s that panic, again. 

Kristoff curses as he pushes himself further upright, and the sound of his soft mutterings causes his mother to gasp from wherever it is that she is – either the kitchen, or the tiny living room. She comes running through into the bedroom – practically kicks the wooden door open – kettle clutched tightly in her hands, and the sight of her would have made him laugh, had the circumstances been different. 

“Kristoff!” she cries, and he winces at the loud sound of her voice as she rushes over to him. She carelessly places the kettle down onto the floor – hot water spilling over the surface in the process – as she kneels beside the bed, her dark eyes wide and wild as she looks over him. 

Worrying. She _was_ always rather good at that. 

She doesn’t hesitate to fuss over him; pressing the back of her hand against his forehead, grabbing his face so that she can tilt it and check the side of his head, leaning up on her knees so that she can get a better view. She’s not exactly gentle with him, by any means, and he bats her hands away irritably. 

“Where’s Mattias?” he asks, and her eyes narrow, although she drops her hands. 

“Where - where’s _Mattias?”_ she repeats, disbelief evident in her tone; and he loves her, he does, and he’ll be sure to remedy his short attitude with her _later,_ but he’s really not in the mood right now to dance around the issue. 

“Yes, ma,” he snaps as he moves to stand. “That’s what I said. Where’s Mattias?” 

She huffs as she crosses her arms over her chest and frowns at him. “Kristoff Bjorgman,” she scolds, “you’ve just been _shot._ In the _head._ And you want to know where _Mattias_ is?” 

“You’re being over-dramatic,” he dismisses, although he does feel a little light-headed, now that he’s standing. He won’t tell her that, though – he doesn’t need her fussing over him some more. “I’m fine. _Anna’s_ not. I need to find Mattias so that I can find _her.”_

His mother sighs at that, though he doesn’t bother to linger to see what she has to say about it. Shot to the head or not – though he really does know it’s nothing serious, otherwise Yelena wouldn’t have left him in the first place; _shit,_ he wouldn’t even be _walking_ if it wasn’t just a graze – there’s no way he’s sticking around to talk it out. 

He realises then that it’s dark outside. Not the kind of darkness that comes with the witching hour, but the kind that suggests that it’s well into the evening, and the sun was only just setting when he got here, so – 

“How long was I out?” he asks with a groan as he toes on his boots – doesn't know who took them off, doesn't really care, either. 

His mother follows him into the room and regards him with a suspicious look as he makes quick work of tying his laces. “I - a few hours,” she tells him, “but not – where are you _going_?” she asks, concern evident in her tone, and Kristoff sighs as he moves to stand at his full height once more. 

He turns his head over his shoulder so that he can face her once again. Her narrowed eyes are hard, but full of worry; and he knows what she’d tell him, if she could, knows that she’d beg him not to go anywhere, but to stay and rest and heal, but he can’t. 

She knows what it’s like, to lose the person you love the most. 

So, then, she must know what he can’t risk. 

He quirks an expectant brow at her – _last chance,_ he thinks, before he goes wandering off in search of his first mate himself, without her guidance – and he sees the moment that she finally gives up as her face softens. 

“He’s down by the docks,” she says, shoulders sagging, “advising the men –” 

He doesn’t stay to hear the end of her sentence. 

Instead, he pushes through the dizzy feeling, shoves open the door, and sprints. 

. 

. 

. 

Mattias gapes at him. 

“What are you doing?” he asks, places his hands on his hips and everything as he blinks over at him, wide-eyed. Kristoff wasn’t able to actually sprint all the way down to the docks – the pounding in his head wouldn’t allow it – but he managed to pick up the pace and jog over towards the end of the journey. 

Mattias stutters over his words and continues. “You’re supposed to be – I just –” 

_What is it with everyone being over-dramatic tonight?_

“Do you know where she is?” he interrupts, his voice hard and cold, and Mattias clears his throat before he shakes his head. “ _Fuck._ Well, did you at least see what happened to her?” 

“Nobody saw anything,” Mattias frowns, “Yelena and I were – _talking_ . We heard the shot; but by the time we got there, it was just... you. Lay on the floor. _Shot in the head_.” 

“Fuck,” Kristoff curses again, runs one of his hands over his face and then shakes his head, trying to think. “There’s got to be – they must have left through the back door,” he says, processing his thoughts. “They must have –” 

“Who’s _they?”_ Mattias asks, though he sighs as soon as Kristoff gives him a stern look. “Alright, fine – but you’re going to have to tell me on the way to wherever it is we’re going, Captain.” 

“I will,” Kristoff nods, solemn. “I just need you to –” 

“Hey!” an unfamiliar voice calls out from the small crowd of men who Mattias had been talking to before Kristoff interrupted, and the blonde cocks a brow as he hardens his jaw and turns his narrowed eyes towards the man. 

He’s never seen this man before in his life. 

Short, a little round around the abdomen, bald. 

“What’s going on here?” he prods, and Kristoff’s fingers twitch by his sides. “I get it, your wife’s missing, _whatever,_ but none of us have a fucking clue what we’re supposed to be doing –” 

_Instinct._

It’s a funny thing. 

One shot, straight through the centre of his skull, and the guy goes silent as he drops to the floor. 

The small crowd of men look between Kristoff, the gun, and the body, and they seem shocked, at the very least, but the sight causes anger to burn within him, because they _shouldn’t be._

This is what happens when you speak out of line. This is what happens when you address your Captain with anything but respect. 

This is what happens when you cross him. 

Evidently, an awful lot has changed, since Anna arrived on his ship four weeks ago. They’ll be changing some more, once he gets her back. 

His eyes drag over the small crowd of men, and he’s no longer disturbed at himself, no longer concerned about the lack of empathy that he feels, or the hollow, empty space in his chest. 

_I’m not a monster, Anna._

He’s not. 

He’s a _Captain,_ and he’s her husband, and he’ll get her back if it’s the last thing he ever does. 

_You can't be both._

She's right, of course; he can't be both of those things at once, _to her_. But just because he's devoted himself to Anna as her husband doesn't mean that he loses his title, or his role, or his respect. It doesn't mean that he can't be both of those things in general, doesn't mean that he can't find a way to keep them separate. 

He just needs time. He'll figure it out.

 _They'll_ figure it out. Once he gets her back.

“Anyone else?” he asks, raises his arms from his sides and lets them hover in the air; the gun still in his hand, almost like he put it there himself. He still doesn’t know how to explain the way in which his body moves during times like this, doesn’t know how to articulate the way in which his mind is always a few seconds behind his body, but he no longer cares. 

Fight or flight. Sink or swim. 

_Instinct._

He won’t question it again. 

None of the men speak up. Instead, he’s met with blank, empty faces, and an overwhelming silence. 

_Good._

"Right, then,” he says, drops his hands to his hips and slides the gun back into his pocket. He turns to Mattias and nods his head once. “Let’s go and find my wife.” 

. 

. 

. 

They start at the cabin and work their way into the woods from the front door. 

Mattias is skeptical, he knows; and his first mate keeps looking at him out of the corner of his eye as though he expects him to collapse into a heap on the floor at any second. Kristoff ignores his sideways glances for now – knows that they come from a place of concern – and instead focuses on looking for any sign or trail of her. 

Elsa’s been careful, so far; clever, he thinks – keeps throwing them off her scent and leaving them with nothing. There was no secret stash of torches in his cabin like the secret stash of chocolates on the ship, and he couldn’t face the thought of waiting long enough to find some from somewhere or someone, and so they wander through the trees holding large, thick branches of fire. 

The flames dance in hues of orange and red, each blend of colour serving as a painful reminder of the shade of her hair. It’s beautiful, he thinks – the fire and her hair, though he finds himself growing irritated by the way in which the flames don’t emulate the intensity of her auburn locks, and – 

His eyes widen and then narrow, and Kristoff scurries closer towards the thick tree. He practically dives down towards the floor, maneuvers the flaming branch in his hands so that he can get a better look, and then his large fingers are grasping at the dirt. 

“Kristoff?” Mattias asks as he comes to a halt from where he had been walking slightly behind him, but the blonde doesn’t answer. Instead, he ignores the adrenaline that courses through him and raises his fist, brings it closer to his face so that he can be certain, so that he _knows,_ and he grinds widely at the filth in his hands. 

For therein it lies several strands of hair; hair a shade of red that the flames cannot touch, cannot mimic, and he laughs loudly into the woods. 

The sound echoes around them. 

He hopes that she can hear it, wherever she is. 

Hopes that she knows what he’s found. 

He’s suddenly reminded of lipstick on mirrors, of his _clever,_ clever _girl,_ of _I’m so proud of you_ and _only you_ and _god,_ he needs her with him now; feels that tightening feeling overwhelming his chest as another bewildered, manic laugh tumbles out of his mouth. 

He can’t stand – doesn't trust himself to – and so he scrambles desperately across the floor of the woods on his knees, hurries as he crawls through the mud and the grass and the leaves, his wide eyes roaming each tree, each bush. He spots it soon enough – _more_ – though he doesn’t reach for it this time, knows that he doesn’t need to, for he knows she’ll have left even more yet. 

Mattias is behind him again, and he’s seen it, too; laughs along with him – though not as manically – and Kristoff tilts his head back as he looks up to the sky. 

He’s caught her gazing out of their window far too many times, and he’ll teach her the all of constellations, if she wants him to – the ones that he knows, at least, they can learn the rest together. He’ll spend every night of the rest of his goddamned life talking to her about the _fucking stars_ if that’s what she wants, if it’ll make her happy, if it’ll make her stay. 

His watery eyes linger on the bright light of the moon, and he exhales a shaky breath as he wills yet another promise to her. 

_I’m coming._

He means it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know he technically got shot but iT'S JUST A GRAZE OKAY so there's no reason why he can't stomp around the woods and find his girl ALRIGHT I know I'm taking liberties here but I think it's allOWED
> 
> oh and don't WORRY THAT'S THE BAD THING, THE BAD THING WAS THAT ELSA KIDNAPPED ANNA. 
> 
> welp


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to take the time to apologise because I feel like some people were super hyped for this chapter but I'm SO BAD at writing anything kind of action-y, like I absolutely hate it dhijfknemrw so um. Yeah. SORRY hahaha

_Norway._

God, she was so _stupid._ So thrilled and excited when he had first told her of his plan, so utterly elated at the thought of him sharing this place with her. His country of birth, the home of his mother, this place of his past and potentially their future, if he wanted; if he’d have her, if he’d keep her in his orbit long enough to shelter her from storms like these. 

She had dared to think that it was a promise, when he murmured that word to her in the darkness of their quarters; when he had pulled her close against his back and held her warm and steady and _safe,_ when he had smiled against the skin of her neck and greeted her with lazy morning kisses – 

And she had giggled that word against his lips not even twenty-four hours ago; had returned it to him, a promise of her own, a promise of tight chests and broad smiles and rocking hips, a promise of _more._

There was no more, though. 

Just his body, always so strong and so solid but now limp and lame, left to bleed out on the floor of his cabin. _Dead._

Just her sister, with wide eyes and trembling fingers and a shaky voice – surprised, Anna thinks, surprised at herself – pushing her along with rushed words and implied threats and – 

_“Look what you’ve done,”_ Elsa had whispered as Anna screamed, “ _look what you’ve made me do. If you would have just listened, if_ _you_ _would have just come with me in the first place –”_

She hadn’t listened. That was true. She hadn’t listened to Elsa when she first arrived, had ignored _I've found you_ and _you need to come with_ _me_ and _we_ _have to_ _get you away from him._

She hadn’t listened. She had resisted with her own words, words like _you don’t understand_ and _he’s my husband, now,_ and then there he had been, smiling warmly and talking about the _smell,_ of all things, and _god,_ now he’s dead, _gone,_ and it’s all her fault, if she would have just _listened –_

If he wouldn’t have listened. To her. 

If she would have allowed him that moment. 

She thinks of Olaf, then; thinks of frowning and judging and questioning, thinks of disappointment and confusion and _I don’t know –_ _instinct._

She thinks of sink or swim. She thought she’d always swim. 

Thought that he would, too. 

She knows that he would have done, if she would have given him the chance. Had she not interrupted, had she not told him to put the gun down, had she allowed him to trust in himself, had she allowed him his instinct. Why – _god,_ why had she said that, why had she been _stupid_ enough to believe that her sis ter would listen, that she wouldn’t hurt anyone, wouldn’t hurt _him_? 

_Norway._

He had promised. 

_Only you. I'm yours._

Look where it got him. 

. 

. 

. 

“You killed him,” she says, voice barely above a whisper as she rests her head against a tree. Elsa continues to walk ahead of her – faster, more determined, muttering on about things like _when we get there_ and _you’ll love it,_ has said something about _I’ve met someone_ and _you’ll fit_ _right in –_ but Anna lags behind her, not quite sure of how her body is even managing to put one foot in front of the other. “I love him,” she says, breath hitching, “I love him, and you’ve killed him.” 

“Anna,” Elsa says, her tone full of warning, impatient and irritated as her eyes dart around the trees, “what do _you_ know about love?” 

It’s comical, really. And _god,_ she almost laughs; almost tells her, almost s hout s, almost screams out every single thing that he managed to teach her in a matter of weeks that her sister didn’t teach her in the two years that they were left together, _alone._

But she can’t. 

Anna can’t stop her jaw from trembling or her bottom lip from wobbling, can’t stop the tears that pool in her eyes or the pounding of her heart, can’t fight the feeling that someone has wrapped their fingers into her gut and _twisted_ _–_

So. She doesn’t tell her. 

Elsa doesn’t expect a response, anyway. Anna can tell. Her sister remembers a younger, meeker, milder Anna; recalls the Anna who would never fight her, who wouldn’t resist against her, who would quieten down after being put in her place. 

Elsa doesn’t know _Kristoff’s_ Anna. 

Elsa doesn’t want to know her, either. 

. 

. 

. 

Anna thinks of his mother, and the tears fall harder. 

She thinks of her stumbling into the cabin upon hearing the gunshot, thinks of her finding him lay there, lifeless, blood pooling around his head like the worst kind of halo, staining the fair strands of his hair. 

She thinks of her sobbing over his chest, her hands fisted in the collar of his shirt as she begs him to come back, of her hands running over his face, tracing the lines of his skin and his bones as she lets out a strangled cry. 

Thinks of her being able to do the things that Anna wanted to do, that Anna _needed_ to do, but didn’t get the chance. 

_We_ _have to_ _go,_ Elsa had said, _before anyone else_ _gets hurt._

Anna had learned her lesson. 

Anna listened. 

. 

. 

. 

Anna knows that he’s not coming. 

Still. She thinks that _someone_ might. 

She knows that they don’t care for her the way that he does, the way that he _did,_ and she feels nauseous at the realisation that they’ll think that this was _her,_ that this had been her plan of escape all along. At the very least, Kai will remember her initial resentment towards him, and she’s sure that Mattias will recall her narrowed eyes and scornful tone; and she’s going to be sick, now, because his _mother –_

_He’s my baby,_ Bulda had smiled as they walked together . _Take care of him for me._

Just another promise that she’s broken. 

They’ll think that she fired the gun, that she’s a murderer, like her sister; but – 

_G_ _od,_ she is, isn’t she? 

_Look what you’ve done. Look what you’ve made me do._

Elsa may have been the one to fire the gun, but it had been Anna who had foolishly lured him to his death; pulled him in with trembling hands cupping his jaw and soft smiles and watery eyes and _Kristoff, honey, put the gun down._

Whatever they want to do to her, she deserves. There’s nothing that she can say to them that will make it alright – nothing that she can say to _herself_ that will fix what she’s done. If she wouldn’t have interrupted, if she wouldn’t have disturbed him, if she would have left him with his instinct, if she would have just _trusted him,_ then he would still be alive. 

So. It’s her fault that he’s dead. She knows that, now. 

Her fault that there’s no more playful sword fights that lead to steamy kisses or pinky fingers brushing that lead to heads resting on shoulders at the top of the crow’s nest. Her fault that there’s no more hands cupping faces or _can I kiss you,_ her fault that there’s no more trembling fingers or stuttered breaths; no more _only you_ or _tell me –_

Her fault that there’s no more _Norway_. 

So. They can have her, if they want. They can hold her responsible for her crimes – she'll take their punishment. It’s not like she doesn’t deserve it. 

Living without him for the rest of her life would be punishment enough. 

Anna doesn’t even wince as she pulls more strands of hair from her scalp, doesn’t so much as blink as she wafts her fingers in the air and allows the gentle breeze to deposit the auburn strands at the bottom of the tree stump. 

Anna knows that he’s not coming. 

Still. She swears that she can hear the ghost of his laughter. 

. 

. 

. 

She has no idea how long it is that they’ve been hurriedly walking through the woods when Anna eventually comes to a halt. She freezes on the spot – her feet no longer able to move – and she glares down at the dirty floor as her breaths come out in heavy pants. 

“Anna,” Elsa says, frustration and exhaustion evident in her tone, and she’s well and truly fed up with her, she knows, “what are you doing?” 

Anna doesn’t say anything. _Can’t._

_“Anna,”_ Elsa tries again, “come _on._ We need to keep moving.” 

“No.” 

Light eyes lift from the floor, and Anna clenches her fists so hard that her knuckles turn white from where they dangle by her sides. The surprised look on Elsa’s face somehow serves as encouragement, and Anna swallows thickly as she narrows her eyes. 

She remembers the way in which she practiced for this moment – how she stood in the bathroom for silly lengths of time, staring as harshly as she could at her reflection and willing her face to transform, to harden, to change from _Anna_ to _Captain._

It never did come to her as easily as it came to him. 

She thinks that it does, now. 

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Anna says, her voice flat, and firm. 

Elsa tilts her chin a little so that she can look up at the sky before she huffs out a quick breath. “You don’t get it,” the blonde says, and she lets out a sharp, shaky laugh. “Everything that I’ve sacrificed – it’s for _you.”_

Anna balks at that. “That _you’ve_ sacrificed?” she asks. 

“Anna, I just killed someone!” Elsa says, her eyes wide as she throws her arms out to the side, and Anna’s jaw hardens even more at the words. “I didn’t want to – I didn’t think that I'd – I'm doing this _for you._ I did _that_ for you.” 

Anna shakes her head quickly. She didn’t. She didn’t, because she didn’t listen; she didn’t care, didn’t want to know – 

“Don’t you see?” Elsa continues, “He was manipulating you, Anna. He didn’t care about you –” 

“You don’t know that,” Anna bites out, her eyes growing impossibly harder. “You don’t know anything about him –” 

“I know enough,” Elsa interrupts. “He only cared about himself. Who agrees to marry a stranger, anyway? Who even –” 

“Who agrees to bargain off their younger sister so that they can just – just – _run away?”_

It’s Elsa who balks, now; takes a small step backwards, as though the angry words hit as harshly as a physical blow. Anna hopes that they do, hopes that they _hurt,_ hopes that her sister feels the way that she felt all those weeks before, when Kai broke down her front door, when he talked her into his car and told her of the agreement. 

The blonde stares at her in disbelief before her own jaw hardens and she straightens her shoulders. “I,” Elsa seethes, “had a _plan._ If you would have just thought it through, then you would have seen that! All that you had to do was sit pretty, just – just keep him sweet, play along until he brought you here.” 

Anna shakes her head from side to side; and _god,_ she _knew it,_ she knew that this would have all been part of some messed up, _stupid_ plan that Elsa had, knew that she was never destined to be more than a piece to her sister’s ridiculous puzzle. 

“I should have known that you couldn’t help yourself. I knew you were always a hopeless romantic, Anna, but I never –” she pauses, then, the wheels in her head turning as a disbelieving smile creeps onto her lips. “Oh, Anna,” Elsa sighs, a condescending kind of noise that causes her fury to bloom, “ _please_ tell me that you didn’t sleep with him.” 

Anna thinks of thick fingers and lazy kisses and _is this all for me_ and _watch your mouth,_ thinks of _you're mine_ and _I always have been,_ thinks of _you're perfect_ and _show me_ and _Norway_ _-_

“That’s none of your business,” Anna says through gritted teeth, “he’s my _husband,_ and I –” 

“Oh, _god._ You did, didn’t you? Do you _hear_ yourself?” 

“He’s – he was _mine,_ and you’ve taken him away from me –” 

“Can’t you see what he’s done to you? You’re wasting time, now; we need to get out of here, and at least we can be together, and –” 

_\- it’s just that_ _if anything_ did _happen, then we’d at least be_ _together_ _–_

_I said no, Anna._

“No,” Anna interrupts, her voice loud and sharp and shrill as she shouts into the woods, and her clenched fists tremble by her sides as a result of her anger. She remembers that conversation as if they had it just yesterday, recalls her innocent pleading and her sister’s dismissive tone. 

Elsa didn’t want her, back then. Anna’s not convinced that she really wants her now, either. 

She juts out her chin defiantly as she narrows her light eyes impossibly further. 

All that Elsa had to do was listen. She didn’t. 

“I said _no,_ Elsa,” Anna says, and despite her trembling fists and her shaky breaths and her pounding heart, she manages to keep her voice firm and steady. She’s not going to allow herself to crumble – not anymore. 

He wouldn’t want her to be weak. 

“I don’t want to go with you. I – I was _happy._ I wanted to _stay._ With him .” She inhales a shaky breath and fights against the tears that threaten to flow again. “I wanted to stay with Kristoff, and you – you’ve taken him away from me. I can’t – I’ll _never_ forgive you for that , and you need to understand that I – I _have_ to go back.” 

“You’re not _listening,_ Anna; if you’d just _listen_ to me, then you’d know that –” 

Elsa falls silent, then, and Anna watches as her lips twitch nervously. Her hands move to wring together, and the redhead frowns, confused, not sure what she’s heard – 

But then she hears it, too. 

_Footsteps._

Elsa’s blue eyes widen, and Anna swears that a flash of horror runs through them as she stares over at her. “Anna,” Elsa whispers, her hands wringing tighter, “we have to go, _n_ _o_ _w_ _,_ come on –” 

She’s keeping her voice low, and soft, and quiet. Nothing more than a murmur in the wind, so that whoever it is that’s approaching can’t hear them anymore, can’t distinguish where they are, and it might just give them enough time to get out, to get away. 

Anna’s jaw hardens once more. 

“No,” she repeats; and she doesn’t hide, doesn’t try and quieten her voice as she blinks at her sister. “I told you,” she continues as Elsa shakes her head and raises a panicked finger to her lips, “I’m not going anywhere with you.” 

It’s silent, again, and Anna can’t breathe. 

Elsa’s eyes widen impossibly as she stares at something behind her sister, but Anna doesn’t so much as flinch – not as the footsteps approach, not at the now familiar clicking sound of a gun’s safety mechanism being flicked to off. 

She smirks, despite herself. 

He found her. 

“Mattias –” she starts, but then comes the distinct sound of a sword being unsheathed, and Anna’s upturned lips fall into a frown. 

Elsa remains still, her eyes wide and her face paler than Anna’s ever seen it, and she sees him, then; stalking towards her sister from behind, his sword hovering in the air and his knees bent as he crouches slightly, his face hard, waiting – 

_Waiting._ Waiting for _what,_ because if Kristoff is dead, then surely whoever it is that has accompanied him here is waiting for Mattias’ command, as first mate? Surely, whoever it is behind her is – 

is – 

“Cuff her,” he growls, and Anna gasps at the sound; but it can’t be, she has to be dreaming, she must be imagining it because there’s just no way that it’s _him,_ “and make sure she doesn’t fucking touch anything.” 

She thinks that she might faint. 

She doesn’t - somehow. Just about, really. 

Slowly, Anna exhales a shaky breath and turns her head over her shoulder. Her eyes meet with the dark metal of the gun, first, but she brushes past that, unphased; hurries to roam over the expanse of thick fingers and golden skin and broad forearms and wide shoulders and – 

_“Kristoff,”_ she breathes, his name escaping her lips before she can process what she’s saying, what she’s _seeing._

It’s not – it can’t be. It isn’t him, isn’t possible, because she _saw_ him; watching him fall to the floor, saw his limp, lifeless body sprawled out across the wood, watched the blood pool around his head and seep into his hair, and – 

The bandage. Her eyes widen at the sight of it. It’s not white, like she would have expected it to be, but bloodstained. There’s blood on his face, too – just a trickle, really, a trickle of dried, crusted blood that runs down from the side of his head, from underneath the bandage, past his eyes and down his cheeks and disappears beneath his jaw. 

He looks deranged, really – not the ruggedly handsome, well put-together Captain that she’s come to love; but a wild, manic version of that man. His eyes are wide, and dark, his lips turned up into a wicked grin. His hands are filthy, she thinks – covered in dirt and grim, and there’s dirt on his pants, too, all over his knees as though he’s been crawling along the floor. 

He hardly looks his best, she thinks – doesn't look like the version of him that her imagination would conjure, doesn’t look like the vision that she would create if she were to see him again. If anything, he looks like a man who has been shot in the head and walked halfway across the forest in search for _her;_ and it’s then that the sob falls from her mout h, then that she knows that he’s real, that he’s _there,_ that he’s found her when she never thought that he would. 

Anna didn’t think that she’d ever see him again, and she inhales a long, loud breath as she looks at him. 

The sound of her sister struggling against Mattias isn’t enough to pull her away from the sight of him standing before her. She’s happy, she _is,_ so ecstatic that she doesn’t know what to do with herself; but he’s not looking at her, now. Those dark eyes are cold, and hard, and narrowed as he stares straight ahead, the gun held steady in his hand as he watches the scuffle. 

Anna turns back to face her sister, looks at the sight of her pale hands being pressed into cuffs, but she doesn’t have time to think about that – doesn't _want_ to think about that. 

She turns to face him again, but he’s still not looking at her, and the happiness that she felt at seeing him there – _alive_ – begins to churn into something else as she realises that he isn’t going to meet her gaze. 

He’s angry, she thinks. Furious, even. With Elsa, of course, but with _her –_

Well. 

It was her fault, after all. 


	26. Chapter 26

Anna focuses on narrowed eyes and a tightly clenched jaw and downturned mouth, unable to bring herself to look away from his face, even at the sound of her sister struggling with Mattias. 

He looks nothing like the vision of the man she would conjure, looks nothing like the Kristoff that her imagination would torment her with; and yet she can’t tear her eyes from his bloodied, dirty skin, struggles even to blink out of fear that he might disappear entirely if she does. 

Tension courses through her as she looks over his features. If it’s him, if he’s real, if he’s alive and not lay bleeding out on the floor of his cabin – then she sure of what’s to come, now. 

No matter her relief, she’s preparing for the angry words that she knows will come pouring from him at any moment, for the accusations that he’ll throw her way, and he won’t be wrong, not for any of it, because he was _dead,_ or he should have been, and – 

_Look what you made me do._

But. _But._ It’s a wonderous thing, watching his transformation; mesmerising – something to behold, like a spell being lifted or a promise being made true. 

It captivated her from the moment that she first saw him do it, back in those early days on the ship, when he wastitle and name rolled into one. She never understood, before, how he manages to do it, but she thinks that she’s starting to understand, now. 

That moment when he changes – when he turns from _Captain_ to _Kristoff,_ or the other way round – the split second that it takes him catches her in a trance like nothing else ever has. Anna’s never seen such eyes, before; eyes that can go from hard and cold to soft and mellow so fast, never seen a scowling face turn worried or pained or relieved so quickly. 

And the sight of his transformation now has her breath hitching. 

Tense shoulders relax and dark eyes warm and downturned lips quiver just a touch, and Anna’s entire body sags in sheer and utter relief. 

A wrangled sob escapes her, and Anna wants to touch him, wants to extend her hands and place them on his face like she has so many times before; but he’s a _mess,_ truly, the side of his head bleeding furiously now beneath the nylon bandage, the skin of his hands filthy with dirt, his shirt hanging loosely out of his pants and _god,_ his hair – 

And what if he is angry at her, now? He can be relieved to have found her yet be furious with what she’s done, with the trouble that she’s caused him: neither one of those emotions has to cancel the other out, and she swallows thickly as she blinks over at him, waiting for his next move. 

He looks at her expectantly, but Anna can’t move, and his brows quirk together ever so slightly before he raises shaky arms. “Come here,” he says to her, though it’s more of a question than it is a command, and Anna furiously wipes away at the tears that prick at her eyes with the backs of her hands before she rushes towards him and launches herself unceremoniously into his open arms. 

He’s not himself – not at all. His usually sturdy body falters at the impact; and although he steadies himself, although he corrects the motion and keeps them upright, Anna can tell that it takes a low more effort from him than it usually would. 

That guilty nausea stirs within her gut, and she can’t fix him, yet, can’t make it right, but she snuggles herself further into his hold and wraps her arms tightly around him. 

Anna’s never held him like this before, and she almost laughs into his chest when she realises that her arms aren’t long enough to wrap around his broad, masculine frame, but the happy sound won’t come, won’t rise from within her with the ease that it would have done just a few hours before. She pulls her face away from his chest so that she can tilt her head back and meet his eyes, and she offers him a watery smile. 

She tries her best to steady her bottom lip as his hands move to her face, as large thumbs wipe away at the evidence of her distress, and she inhales a shaky breath as he speaks again. 

“I thought I’d lost you,” he murmurs, voice quiet and low, and his eyes aren’t so crazed anymore, aren’t so wild as they bore into her own. 

He relaxes into her gaze, and Anna doesn’t want to look away from him, doesn’t want to look anywhere else, but the building tears overwhelm her. She squeezes her eyes tightly closed and leans into his touch, focuses on the feel of his thumb softly caressing her. 

“ _God,_ Kristoff, I –” she starts, his name coming out as a broken noise, and her entire jaw trembles as she opens her eyes back up to his. 

She knows him, now, after a short few weeks of constantly being in his company; knows him better than she thought that she ever would, and he looks so _hurt_ as he regards her. His pained expression causes that guilty feeling within her gut to stab at her with more vigor, and Anna raises one of her trembling hands to his, finds herself wrapping her fingers around his wrist – almost laughs again, at the memory of her frustration, at the sight of his size compared to her own – and she squeezes, a silent plea for him to keep his hand where it is. 

A silent plea for him to stay. 

“I’m sorry, I – I’m so, _so_ sorry,” she says, and she wishes she could say more to him, wishes that the words would come; wishes that she could explain, that she could tell him, that she could beg him to forgive her – 

He pulls her closer once more, and Anna finally allows herself to break down in the safety of his arms. He softly shushes her, slides his hand large hand away from the side of her face and moves it towards the back of her head so that he can hold her against him. The rush of emotions overwhelms her, and more than anything, she’s just so relieved to have him here, to hold him and to be held by him that she can’t focus on anything else, anymore. 

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs. 

_God,_ but he does. 

. 

. 

. 

Eventually, they walk. 

She slides one of her hands into his and crosses her other arm over her abdomen so that her otherwise free hand can rest on top of his forearm as they move through the trees. He’s a little surprised by the contact, she thinks; but she needs this – needs to feel him present beneath her fingertips, needs him as close as she physically can have him, and she wonders whether he needs it, too. 

She doesn’t cry, this time. Smiles. 

Is thankful. 

. 

. 

. 

Bulda clutches at her tightly, first; runs her hands over her face and kisses her cheek and squeezes her shoulders, and then she moves towards her son, though she tuts and fusses at his bloodstained bandage and his dirty hands. Kristoff brushes her off with a warning _ma_ , and after a mug of tea and words of reassurance, she excuses herself – something about how Yelena has been watching Olaf and is no doubt anxiously waiting for her to return. 

Anna’s relieved to find that his mother has cleaned up the evidence of what happened on the cabin’s floor, and Yelena had thought ahead and left extra supplies in the cabin, so she moves to make quick work of cleaning him up, too. 

Kristoff doesn’t resist as she places her hands flat against his chest and encourages him to sit down on the edge of the bed so that she can work. There’s room next to him, but she doesn’t want to sit there; instead, she finds purchase on the floor between his opened legs, rests the side of her body against one of his thighs whilst she gets started. 

Feels closer to him, like this. 

She hums softly as her fingers sweep apologetically over his face, his hair, his hands, as she washes his dirty, bloodied skin with a flannel. He’s clearly exhausted – the dark bags underneath his usually alert eyes tell her as much – but she takes her time as she cleanses him, uses her fingers to tilt his chin and smiles softly as she wipes away the blood. 

She’s careful as she changes his bandage, and Yelena has prepared her for worse, but somehow, this is different; different because it’s _him,_ and once she’s satisfied that he’s clean and dry, she places her hands on his thighs and pushes herself upright. 

He catches her off guard, though – reaches out his arms so that his palms wrap around the back of her thighs and holds her still, and Anna smiles softly down at him. Her own hands wander so that she can rake her nails against his scalp, brushing his hair away from his forehead in the process, and tired eyes flutter to a close at her touch. 

“You need to rest,” she murmurs to him as her thumbs move to trail over the expanse of his sharp jaw, and he nods his head in agreement, though he doesn’t move to stand. 

Honey coloured eyes open into her own, and Anna watches closely as his pink tongue dances over dry lips before he eventually speaks. 

“Anna,” he says, voice breaking on the word, “can I –” 

She won’t let him finish the question – _god,_ he doesn’t even need to _ask –_ and she closes the distance between them, pressing a soft, wet kiss against his mouth. 

There are conversations to be had, she knows; but for now, they need to sleep. 

It’s a start, at least. 

. 

. 

. 

Tonight, she holds him. 

Kristoff lies on his back in the bed – smaller than the one on his ship, though it’s still roomy enough for them both – and she rests on her side so that she can bury her face into the crook of his neck, hoists her leg over one of his muscular thighs and drapes one of her arms across his middle. Her fingers brush against his taut abdomen as he presses one of his palms flat against her back, keeping her tucked into him; and Anna smiles against his skin as she closes her eyes and rests. 

The room is beginning to be kissed in shades of pink when she wakes with a sharp gasp, her body rigid and stiff as she jerks awake. She’s been spoiled by pleasant dreams in recent days, but all that’s she’s dreamt of tonight is _him_ ; his body limp, a halo of blood, golden skin drained white and fading to grey, lips parted and jaw slack and _look what you’ve done –_

“Hey,” he murmurs, voice thick with sleep, “hey, it’s alright – I'm here.” 

Thick fingers gently stroke up and down the expanse of her back as Anna pushes herself upright, and she shivers slightly as the sheets tumble around her and expose more of her bare skin. Kristoff raises his other hand to her face, the pad of his calloused thumb pulling against her bottom lip, and she shivers again before she leans forward and presses her forehead against his own. 

The tips of their noses brush together, and she smiles. She’s so close to his mouth that the stubble of his chin tickles her lips as she speaks, as pleads – 

“Show me,” she whispers, an echo of his own words, and he swallows thickly. 

Understands. 

There’s no rocking of the waves, this morning, just the rhythm of her hips as she slides herself against him. No horrified screams or deranged laughter echoing through the air, just slow, long kisses, swallowed moans and soft whimpers. 

Just _I'm here_ and _please_ and _more,_ just _that’s it_ and _I’ve got you_ and _tell me._

_Only you._

_._

_._

_._

She’s calmer, the next time that she wakes, and although there’s gentle kisses and slow hands, Anna knows that there are decisions to be made and words to be spoken and – 

“Anna,” he murmurs, and _god,_ her _name;_ her name and the way that he says it so softly, the way that he softens the vowels to make it sound like a song. She never thought that she’d hear his voice again, convinced that his last words were him complimenting her cooking of all things, and she squeezes her eyes tightly shut as one of his hands moves to cup her face. 

“I know,” she sighs. 

She does. 

When she opens her eyes, he’s frowning, and Anna shuffles closer towards him. 

“I just –” he starts, his frown deepening as he struggles with the words. He blows out a huff of hot air that fans over her face, reminds her that he’s here, that he’s alive. “I don’t think I have any other choice. Not anymore.” 

Anna’s head jerks as she nods in agreement. Takes a moment to think about what she wants to say, and how she wants to say it. 

“What - what would you do,” she asks, tries her best to keep her voice steady, “if she was someone else? If she – if she wasn’t my sister.” 

Kristoff doesn’t answer that. The look in his eyes is answer enough – the answer she knew, anyway – and Anna’s shoulders sag as she sighs once more. 

“Would you hesitate, if she wasn’t?” she presses; though again, she knows the answer. 

She needs to hear him say it, though. 

_Tell me._

“No,” he admits, firm and soft all at once, and Anna’s chest clenches tightly, though not in the familiar, pleasant way that she’s come to associate with him. It’s a tightness that reminds her of police officers on doorsteps and front doors being broken down, a tightness that reminds her of mistakes in the library and lipstick on a mirror. 

Anna was convinced that he had gone, that she’d never see him again. She thought that they’d never have more of _this_ ; no soft kisses or playful sword fights, no crow’s nest or _Norway_ _._

It wouldn’t have been her fault, though. 

It _wouldn’t._

“Okay,” she whispers, “then. Then it’s settled, right? You – you know what you have to do, now.” 

Kristoff swallows thickly, and she focuses on keeping her breathing steady rather than the worried look on his face. “I know, it’s just – it's _you,_ what am I –” 

“No,” she interrupts, then, her face hardening as she looks over at him with narrowed eyes. “I – _no.”_

She doesn’t need to say any more than that. He understands, she knows. 

His thumb brushes over her cheekbone, and she offers him a wobbly smile. 

“I’ll take care of it,” he promises, “and then, I’ll take care of you.” 

She’s learned her lesson, this time. She _has._

“That sounds perfect,” she whispers, breath hitching on a sob, and he pulls her close as tears fall down her face. 

She won’t doubt him. Not again. 


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Heavy is the head that wears the crown."
> 
> trigger warning for, like, EVERYTHING in the tags.

It’s almost midday by the time that Kristoff is able to pull himself away from the cabin, and he closes the door softly behind him. For the first time since he met her, he tries his best _not_ to think about Anna as he makes his way down towards the docks. He focuses on the sight of his ship in the distance; locks his eyes onto the dark wood and bright sails as he fights against the memory of watery blue eyes and trembling lips and wrangled, broken sobs. 

He has no choice in the matter, now. He knows what needs to be done. 

And so does she. 

That doesn’t make it any easier, he knows. Doesn’t soften the blow. Kristoff never had a sibling, though he had longed for one for most of his lonely childhood, so he can only begin to imagine the turmoil that Anna must be facing as she waits in the cabin for his return. 

All of the things that her sister has done can’t – and won’t – distract from the pain that the consequences of her actions will bring to his wife. He feels rage swell within him at the thought of _what if’s;_ at the memory of how eager she had been to sign her over to _him_ _–_ a man she knew only by his vague title – about what that could have meant, had he been a different kind of man, a different kind of Captain. 

Anna had sobbed when she had explained her sister’s reasoning, had cried over how little sense it made, because if Elsa had been so certain that he was awful – so adamant that he was nothing but evil – then why had she been so keen to hand Anna over to him at all? 

“I was going to offer to change that for you,” Yelena comments as he passes by, and she gestures briefly towards the bandage on the side of his head as he looks at her blankly. 

Everything else considered, he had completely forgotten about it. 

“But I can see that it’s already been taken care of.” 

The older woman smirks at him as though she knows a secret that he doesn’t, and Kristoff swallows thickly under her curious gaze. His dark eyes sweep over her face – though he doesn’t really take much of her in, distracted as he is – and he nods his head in acknowledgement and ignores the burning of his ears as he turns on his heel and continues on his way. 

He’s not in the mood for chit-chat today. 

“There you are,” he says as he finally reaches the docks, and he places his hands on his hips as he stands beside his first mate. 

Mattias straightens at the sound of his voice and quickly dismisses the man whom he had been consulting with before he turns to face him, a solemn expression on his face. He knows what’s to come, of course – has been responsible for ensuring that everything is prepared. 

“Is everything ready?” Kristoff asks, and Mattias’ shoulders relax slightly as he nods his head. “Good,” Kristoff continues, “and the men, are they –?” 

He trails off – cringes internally, not sure how to find the words for what he wants to say – though Mattias seems to understand, and he nods his head again. 

“Yes,” he confirms, “the men are setting up as we speak.” 

Kristoff takes the time to check over the number of bullets that remain in his gun as Mattias responds. The blonde squints as the sunlight reflects off the surface of the sea and temporarily catches his eyes, though he doesn’t miss the way in which Mattias’ gaze flickers to the gun as he slips it back into his holster. 

Fully loaded, as always. 

He’ll only need one, though. 

“Kristoff –” Mattias begins, though he stops immediately as the blonde gives him a long, hard look. 

Anna didn’t have to accept his need to do this. She could have begged him, could have pleaded for him to spare her sister, could have scrambled in an attempt to find another solution to the issue at hand. 

Truthfully, he isn’t sure how he would have responded, had she done that. He isn’t convinced that there is, or ever could be, an alternative option – Elsa has proven herself to be dangerous. He gave her mercy, once, and all that it did for him was result in him left for dead and Anna stolen away from right under his nose. 

Still – he knows how much of a challenge it is to deny her of anything. 

His first mate regards him for a moment longer before he sighs, the sound heavy yet full of acceptance as his shoulders sag. Anna had accepted the decision in much the same way, although there had been a few more tears. 

“Captain,” he finishes, bows his head at the neck and raises his hand in salute. 

Kristoff doesn’t wait for him to straighten once more before he brushes past and moves towards his ship. 

The sooner that this is over with, the better. 

. 

. 

. 

His dad was never all that honest with him about how shitty a job this was. 

He recalls a simpler time, when he was younger and smaller, full of awe and pride and respect as he watched his father command the crew, the ship, the _sea._ It had been marvellous, then; something to look forward to, if he could be hard and strong and smart enough, someone he could aspire to be. 

He wonders whether he’d feel the same way, if he knew then what he knows now. 

Kristoff stretches his stiff neck from side to side and ignores the irritable itch of the makeshift bandage on his temple as he removes the gun from his holster before he shoulders the door into the lowest section of the ship. 

He doesn’t give a shit if she’s cuffed. He’s got a wife to get back to – he's not making that mistake again. 

. 

. 

. 

Surprisingly, Elsa isn’t thrilled to see him. 

The Captain scowls as he steps into the cell, his teeth clenched tightly as his tall, broad frame fills out most of the small space. His dark eyes roam slowly over the expanse of it – he hasn’t needed to make use of the ship’s cells for months, and he hadn’t realised just how filthy it was down here. 

He makes a mental note to get some of his men to come and clean it up. 

Just in case. 

“You,” she hisses as she lunges forwards, fury evident upon her features. She doesn’t get very far, since the chained handcuffs physically restrain her and cause her to stagger backwards towards the wall, and she grunts as she resists against the pull. 

It’s a pitiful sight, really. 

He watches as she continues to struggle against the cuffs, his mouth pressed in a thin, hard line; and he doesn’t resist the urge to roll his eyes as he waits for her to give up. Her chest heaves up and down dramatically, but eventually, her cold, narrowed eyes shift away from his and fall to the gun in his hands, and her expression changes from one of twisted anger to blinding panic in a matter of seconds. 

It’s always haunted him, that look; that moment of realisation that a person experiences before their life comes to an end, the dread that pours over their features as they process what’s coming. 

Funnily enough, it doesn’t bother him quite so much today. 

_I meant_ _what I said – about your sister, and how she was a pain in my ass._

_C_ _hrist,_ hadn’t that been the understatement of his life? This woman had been nothing short of trouble since the day that she crept her way onto his ship . Not only had she damaged a large amount of valuable stock – which had no doubt impacted upon the lives of hundreds, if not thousands of people who were desperately waiting for their countries shipments of the vaccine – and attempted to kill him, _twice;_ she had abandoned her sister, left her lonely for months on end and then eagerly signed her over to marry a man she’d never even met in order to save her own skin. 

He knew what Elsa thought about _that_ – Anna had told him as much, once they returned to the security of his cabin. It was something he’d struggled with himself, before she even arrived on his ship; though he couldn’t help but wonder what kind of man it would have made him had he refused the trade, had he knowingly opted to leave an innocent, unknowing young woman abandoned and alone, waiting on the return of a sibling who never had any intentions of coming back in the first place. 

He didn’t know, then, that he would love her. Never imagined that he could. 

Still – he couldn’t have just left her there. 

Not like her own flesh and blood had done. 

Elsa’s eyes dart between his and the gun, and Kristoff thinks then of how her eyes are nothing at all like Anna’s; thinks of how pale they are – to the point where they’re almost void of any colour – completely lacking of any warmth or emotion. 

It makes it _that_ much easier to lift his weapon. 

“She’ll never forgive you, you know,” she tells him, her voice low and quiet, like it was in the woods. He’s not used to this – not used to her not shouting, or screeching. “She’s – I’m her _sister_.” 

He rolls his eyes once more and ignores her as she continues to ramble on with herself. Instead of engaging, he quickly inspects the weapon in his hands – after all, he _really_ isn’t in the mood for chit-chat today. 

“I’ve always been there for her,” she continues, “she’s not going to just –” 

_Click._

He flicks the safety mechanism off the gun and moves his finger to hover over the trigger. Those cold eyes widen dramatically as he raises his arm so that he can line up the shot, and it’s not something that he typically takes the time to do – his aim almost always perfect as a result of years of training and handling – but she’s already taken enough from him, from _Anna,_ so she can fuck off if she thinks that she’s taking more than one bullet, too. 

A range of emotions washes over her face, but her final expression is hard, and firm. 

He thinks that she might be calling his bluff. Thinks that she might be challenging him. 

“Tell her that I did it for her,” she says defiantly, and he hesitates just for a moment at her words. Cocks his head to one side whilst he regards her. 

_Did what,_ he thinks, the question on the tip of his tongue. 

_Leaving her behind,_ _alone,_ _when the world as everyone knew it was coming to an end –_ _had_ that _been_ _for Anna?_

_Not returning home_ _after her failed vacation_ _and_ _hiding away in_ _his ship instead –_ _had_ that _been_ _for Anna?_

_Offering her as a replacement for her crimes so that she could return to her freedom – had_ that _been for Anna?_

_Breaking into his cabin, trying to murder him –_ again _–_ _and forcing her to leave with her despite her pleas otherwise – had_ that _been for Anna?_

Rage courses through him once more at the overwhelming memory of stuttered breaths and muffled cries and wet cheeks buried into the crook of his neck; and he wants to roar, now, wants to shout the questions as loudly as he can towards her, wants to torment her with words of his own in the hopes that his accusatory tone would sting her, even if it’s only a fraction as much as the hurt that she’s caused to his _Anna –_

But the Captain never has been a man of many words, so. 

“No.” 

The shot rings out. 

This time, it’s not a graze. 

. 

. 

. 

He finds them by the waterfront a short while later. 

Apparently, Olaf has taken a real shining to skimming pebbles across the shore, and Kristoff’s lips quirk a touch as he watches the young boy flick his wrist and release the small stone. 

Olaf hardly has a natural flare for it, but Bulda cheers him on enthusiastically all the same, and Kristoff’s relieved when his mother seems to take the hint and hurries away from the couple in order to demonstrate a more efficient technique for the boy to mimic. 

Anna turns to look at him, then; tilts her chin and squints her eyes against the glare of the sun, and Kristoff’s lip quirk once more before he moves to one side in an attempt to block the sunlight from her eyes with his larger frame. She smiles, pleased, and his heart rate increases at the way it almost meets her eyes. 

He loves her – he knows that now. Loves her in a way that’s fierce and bold and soft all at once. He never thought that it would be possible for him to care about anyone like this, but the small weight of the ring in the inside pocket of his coat serves as a near enough constant reminder of the warmth that he feels towards her, and Kristoff’s cheeks flush pink as she blinks up at him. 

He’s never known anyone quite as beautiful as Anna – even now, with her reddened eyes and tear-stained cheeks and dry, chapped lips – and he’s certain that he never will. 

“Is it –” she starts, then falters before she corrects herself, “is it done?” 

Kristoff nods his head once in confirmation. 

“I took care of it,” he murmurs, voice low. _I promised._

She releases a heavy, drawn-out breath before she shifts her eyes to the floor. He swallows as he stands before her, and all of the rage and the anger and the confidence that he felt as the Captain drains away, now; and suddenly, he feels nervous and anxious and ashamed, waiting on edge for the judgmental tone or the panicked words that he’s sure will leave her mouth at any moment. 

They don’t come, though. 

Anna exhales once more before she lifts her eyes to his and gives a jerky nod of her own head. “Alright,” she says, then, “are you okay?” 

He looks at her. 

Blinks. 

“What?” he asks, the word barely audible above the sound of the waves kissing the shore and Olaf’s ceremonious whoops and the gull's obnoxious squawks, but she hears him, anyway. 

“Are you okay?” she repeats, stepping ever so slightly closer towards him, and he can’t help himself, then. 

He struggles to swallow down the swell in his throat before he gives into the overwhelming need to reach out to her, to touch her, to feel her beneath his fingertips, and he raises both of his hands to cup her cheeks as he shakes his head in disbelief. 

“Are you serious?” he whispers, laughter in his tone as he blinks down at her, “Anna, I –” 

_I love_ _you,_ he thinks; and _shit,_ he wants to tell her, he _does,_ but he’s not so sure that this is the best time, not so sure that it’s the most _ideal_ scenario, really; and – 

“Anna!” Olaf’s voice calls, “Kristoff! Watch this!” 

Despite himself, he smiles. 

. 

. 

. 

By the time that they reach the cliffs, the sun is setting low in the sky, and the crew are gathered in a semi-circle. She leans closer to him by a fraction as they approach – her shoulder brushing against his forearm – though Kristoff knows that none of his men will have noticed the movement. 

On the outside, she’s cool, and calm, and collected, her expression completely neutral, void of all emotion as she walks beside him. 

Still – her dainty fingers tremble from where they’re interlocked with his, and Kristoff squeezes her hand tightly in what he hopes is a reassuring gesture. 

Together, they make their way towards the long, narrow rock that has been positioned on the cliff’s edge; and though her eyes are locked straight ahead, he has a feeling that she’s focusing on the sunset rather than the body. 

It doesn’t seem all that long ago since they were faced with a similar situation on the deck of his ship. And _god,_ how he had worried about her then, never mind now; how he had fretted over whether it was too soon to involve her in such things, over whether she could handle it – but, as with everything else, Anna had proved herself to be determined, and capable, and strong. 

_I’m sure,_ she had told him, _I’m ready._

It wasn’t for her own benefit, then – though she may not have told him as much, Kristoff had the feeling that it mostly had to do with her wanting to establish the respect of his crew. _That,_ he could understand. 

This time, Kristoff didn’t bother to ask her whether she’d accompany him – he already knew what her answer would be. He knew it the moment that she uttered those words to him – _you know what you have to do, now –_ and he wants to tell her that _she_ doesn’t have to, wants to reassure her that this isn’t necessary, isn’t important; wants to lighten her burden however much he can. 

Somehow, though, he knows that this is something that she needs to do – for herself, as much as the crew – and so he doesn’t interrupt her long, determined steps, doesn’t pause her movements to offer words like _are you sure_ _._

Instead, he stays strong and steady and silent as he walks besides her. 

She releases his hand, eventually, and he watches intently as she steps closer towards the body. Her auburn hair whips around her face in the breeze, and she pushes it back – frustrated, he thinks – as she positions her hands on opposite ends of the rock. Kristoff counts to ten in his mind and opens his mouth to whisper the command – _now –_ but before he can, she beats him to it. 

Anna inhales a long breath, grips so tightly to the rock that her knuckles turn white, then she raises her hands and shoves. 

The crew stand back and feast their eyes upon the sight of the young couple leaning over the cliff’s edge together; and whilst Kristoff watches as the waves accept the offering of her sister’s body, Anna’s eyes squeeze tightly shut. 

None of the men need to know that she couldn’t watch, nor do they need to know that her breathing falters, or that her hands tremble as she blindly reaches out towards him. All that they see is her back turned to face them and her chin tilted down towards the water below, and he knows it’s enough – knows that it’s more than enough – as he squeezes his fingers against the smooth skin of her palm. 

There are an awful lot of wrongs that occurred that Kristoff knows he’ll never be able to forgive Elsa for, but the hopeless, pained look on Anna’s face when she opens her eyes and tilts her chin towards him is by far the worst of her crimes. 

“Take me back,” she whispers, and he swallows thickly as the strong breeze ripples through his hair. “Please, Kristoff – take me _home.”_

His eyes narrow ever so slightly at the word, but he nods his head at her before he slowly moves to face the crew. Hand in hand, the two of them walk away from the edge of the cliff together, and he feels her tight grip on his hand relax with each step that they take away from the rock, with each step that they take closer to the cabin. 

There are no roaring cheers or loud chants from the men, this evening; no wild, obnoxious celebration of the dead. She’s surprised them, he thinks; has completely thrown them off guard, and the sight of some of their terrified expressions almost makes him smirk. 

Let this be their final warning, then; that he loves her with all that he is, and there are no limits, now. He’ll stop at nothing to protect what’s his. 

(He’s starting to believe that the feeling is mutual.) 


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that I've not replied to comments on the last chapter yet! I will get round to it and I have read them all I've just been super busy with uni stuff kind of taking over my life hehe. 
> 
> Things are getting a little crazy because of COVID so updates will probably be a little more sporadic but thank you so much to everyone who has been so lovely about this little story!

Anna won’t cry. She _won’t._

“You’re allowed to be upset,” he murmurs as she slips into place beside him. “Nobody else has to know.” 

His strong arms engulf her in a tight hold, and she shuffles as close to him as she possibly can, nuzzling her face against his chest so that her cheek is pressed firmly against his skin. She slides one of her legs in between his, too; and finds that he curls into her in return, his chin resting on top of her head whilst he trails his fingers up and down her spine beneath her thin pyjama top. 

If he thought that it was odd that she wanted to come back to sleep in their room on the ship rather than his cabin, he didn’t comment on it. 

“I know,” she sighs, her own fingers trailing absent-mindedly over his arm. She can’t seem to be able to stop touching him, now; seems to have a constant need to feel him warm and real and alive beneath her fingertips. “I just – I don’t know how to explain it. Without sounding... awful.” 

She doesn’t need to be able to see his face to know that he’s frowning. 

“I’m just – so _mad_ at her. That she thought... that she let it come to this. If she would have just listened to me, to what I wanted, then she’d –” 

_Still be alive._

Anna exhales a shaky breath before she starts again. “I thought that you were dead,” she tells him. “I thought that I’d never get to see you again. Because of her. And I just –” 

Her breath hitches as his palm moves to cup her face, his hand so large that his fingers brush into her hair, and Anna lets him easily guide her so that her chin is tilted back and she’s looking directly into his eyes. 

Her stomach clenches tightly, but Anna won’t cry. 

“I thought that I’d lost you,” she says, voice barely above a whisper now, “and that feels _so_ much worse than this.” 

Kristoff doesn’t say anything to that. Instead, he just sweeps the pad of his thumb back and forth over her cheekbone, and Anna’s eyes softly flutter to a close as she focuses on his touch. 

“I know that makes me sound like the worst person in the world,” she murmurs, “the worst _sister,_ too. But I don’t – I don’t want to lose you. I _can’t_.” 

Her eyes remain closed as he lowers his face to hers, though her lashes flutter slightly when he presses a long, chaste kiss to the middle of her forehead. Somehow, the gesture is more intimate than the kiss that she was expecting. 

“You won’t,” he murmurs, “I promise you, you won’t. And you’re not a bad person for feeling like that. The world is different, now,” he tells her, “if you don’t adapt, then you won’t survive.” 

Anna tilts her chin and pushes her body up ever so slightly so that the tip of her nose brushes against his jaw, and she inhales a long, deep breath; revelling in his masculine scent, letting it overwhelm her senses for a moment. 

Just another reminder that he’s here. That he’s _alive._

He survived. She will, too. 

. 

. 

. 

She wakes to two kisses on her forehead and fingers trailing the line of her jaw, and despite the tight, heavy feeling that still lingers in her chest, she smiles widely as she blinks open her eyes. 

Sunlight streams softly through the curtains, illuminating the entire room in a warm glow that matches the colour of his hair, and Anna finds that she can breathe a little easier now that they’re here in their own bed, the ship rocking gently with the waves beneath them. 

She slept much better for it, too. 

“Happy birthday,” he murmurs, his voice low and thick with sleep, and Anna giggles as she raises her own hands to cup his face. 

It’s sickly sweet, this feeling; she knows it is – has read about it in so many books that she recognises it with ease – but she can’t help herself but to be pulled along with it, and so she presses her lips against his in a slow kiss that’s full of familiarity. 

“You remembered,” she smiles against his lips, and he scoffs, feigning offence. 

“You thought that I'd forget?” he counters with a cocked brow, and Anna shrugs – the grin on her face never faltering – before she kisses him again. 

(She didn't.)

. 

. 

. 

“Happy birthday, Anna!” Olaf calls from where he’s walking along the seafront with Bulda, and Anna’s light, cheerful laughter tinkles through the air as she waves over at them both. 

She tilts her chin to look up at Kristoff – her arm linked through his so that her palm is resting on the crook of his elbow – and grins. 

“I was kidding, before,” she says as she squeezes his forearm, “but did you actually tell _everyone_?” 

He chuckles at that as they walk in the opposite direction of the sea and head towards the town, and he shrugs his shoulders casually. 

“I might have done,” he smiles, and she laughs lightly before she squeezes his arm even tighter. “What?” he continues; smirking, now, his eyes all bright and playful as he looks down at her. “I was thinking that it might get us a discount on all the new stuff that you need.” 

She narrows her eyes at his teasing before she nudges him with her hip, and although she put a reasonable amount of _oomph_ into the movement, she knows that it’s nowhere near enough to so much as falter his steps. Still, Kristoff sways towards the side dramatically – her arm remaining looped through his whilst he moves – and she grins happily as he plays along. 

It’s nice, she thinks: how easy it is to be with him like this. 

“Woah!” he laughs, “easy, now. Geez – what has Frederik been _feeding_ you?” 

. 

. 

. 

Despite her initial protests – everything is all just too much and too expensive – he’s rather insistent on providing her with a whole new wardrobe. 

“We won’t be porting for another twelve weeks after this,” he says as the store clerk takes the large pile of clothing from her arms, “so I want to be sure you have everything you need.” 

She raises her brows and gives him a knowing look, and he surprises her by leaning forward and pressing a quick kiss to her lips. It’s not unwelcome – not at all – just. _New._

The store clerk looks equally surprised. 

“Let me have this,” he says to her. “Let me take care of you.” 

How on earth is she supposed to say no to _that?_

. 

. 

. 

Anna hums softly as she runs the hairbrush through her soft waves, though the sound of Kristoff clearing his throat catches her attention, and she turns her head towards him from where she’s perched on the end of their bed. 

His dark eyes slowly rake over her and drink her in, from her hair that’s half-twisted around her head in a loose braid to the light splash of make-up that she’s applied down to her dress. It’s not exactly _practical –_ a soft green skater-style dress that falls to her knees, printed sunflowers decorating the hem – but it had caught her eye as soon as they entered the store, and he had insisted, after all. 

“Come here,” he says as he gestures with his fingers for her to approach, and Anna doesn’t hesitate to place the brush down and make her way towards where he’s sat in the leather chair by his oak desk. 

She moves to stand before him, but he pushes the chair backwards slightly before he blinks up at her. There’s some hesitancy in his eyes, but Anna thinks she understands what he’s silently asking her for; and so she smooths down the back of her dress before she positions herself into his lap, her hands looping around the back of his neck as she adjusts herself to sit comfortably on him. 

Kristoff relaxes somewhat, then; and one of his hands presses against her lower back whilst the other moves to cup her face. There’s a look on his face that she can’t quite decipher – a warmth in his brown eyes that lights up his face in a way that catches her breath – and Anna can’t look away. 

“You look beautiful,” he murmurs, and her cheeks flush almost as brightly as his at the compliment. “I - you _are_ beautiful, I mean. But you look – _extra_ beautiful, today. Tonight? Is it –” 

She giggles nervously as he stutters over his words. He’s said this to her, once before; but this feels different, somehow, and she sighs before she moves to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, quickly silencing him. 

“Thank you,” she smiles, “and – and thank you. For the dress. And for everything else, too,” she sighs. “It feels like forever since I’ve had a birthday, and I just – thank you.” 

He grins at that. “Well, it’s not over yet,” he tells her, “and I actually need to talk to you about something.” 

Anna frowns at that – he has a way of sounding so _serious,_ sometimes – though he doesn’t give her the chance to respond, since he reaches out to grip at the edge of the desk and uses his hold on it to pull the leather chair further towards it. She stays nestled in his lap as she leans forward ever so slightly, and she drops one of her arms from the back of his neck to rest it on the desk whilst she looks at the paperwork he’s been working on. 

It’s a contract of some kind, and the first thing that she spots is her name, written in large, bold lettering. Her frown deepens, and she quickly turns to face him once again. 

“What is this?” she asks, her heart rate increasing as her stomach twists into a knot. 

She thinks of everything that he said to her, that day on the rigging; thinks of him ripping up the parchment in his hands and offering it up to the wind, thinks of _you’re a free woman_ and _you’re pardoned_ and _whatever you want_ , and – 

“Hey,” he says, interrupting her cascading thoughts, and the panic must have been written all over her face because he’s also frowning as he moves his hand to cup her face. “Stop that,” he tells her, voice soft, and Anna swallows thickly. “It’s – it’s nothing to worry about, okay? Just something that needed to be done, at some point. A _formality,_ or whatever.” 

“A formality?” she repeats, confused, and he nods his head as he drops his hand from her face and reaches across the desk to grasp at his fountain pen. 

“Yeah,” he confirms, “you just need to sign at the bottom, right next to my signature, and then it’s done.” 

The pen hovers between them as he waits, but Anna continues to stare at him, her brows knotting together as she inhales a deep breath. 

“What – what do you mean, _it’s done_ ?” she repeats. “What am I – what _is_ this?” 

It’s his turn to look confused, now. “Didn’t you just read it?” he asks, and she almost rolls her eyes, is just about to tell him that she looked at it for all of ten seconds, before he speaks again. “It’s – ah. Think of it as like... a will. Or something.” 

She quirks a brow at that. “A will?” 

“Yeah. A will. It’s...” he sighs, the sound long and heavy. “If anything happens to me, Anna, then it’s – _this –_ is yours. My ship, my money, my crew ... it’s yours.” Her eyes widen in underst anding as she continued to look at him, and he rubs his hand up and down her back several times. “You’re not – you’re not _just_ my wife, Anna,” he says, “you’re everything. To me. And this just... confirms that.” 

It takes her a moment to process his words, and her heart pounds intensely in her chest as she opens her mouth to speak – to say something, anything – but the words won’t come, just shaky, stuttered breaths as her eyes begin to pool with tears. 

She swore she wouldn’t cry. 

This is different, though, she thinks; this is happiness, and joy, and _love,_ so – 

“Kristoff,” she breathes, her lips turning up into a wide smile as she moves to cup his face, dropping the pen haphazardly onto his desk. “I – _god_ , Kristoff, I love you,” she tells him, and she laughs softly as his dark eyes widen in surprise. “I love you, I do, and I –” 

He cuts her off with a desperate kiss, his hands moving to bury into the strands at the back of her head, and Anna giggles against his lips – wants to teasingly scold him for no doubt messing up the braid that had taken her far too long to put together – but she shuffles further into his lap as she returns his kiss. 

It’s so soon, she knows; but she has been through so much with this man – seen so much and learned so much in the month that she’s spent by his side – and she knows that there’s nobody else out there for her, that there’s nobody on this earth who would protect her or teach her or care for her the way that he does. 

He’s her family, now; all that she has, all that she _wants,_ and she loves him, she _does._

He breaks their kiss, then, presses his forehead solidly against hers as his chest heaves up and down, and she drops her hands from his face in order to hold onto his shoulders as she tries to steady her own breaths, too. 

“I love you,” he tells her, and those tears return to her eyes as she grins at him. “ _Fuck,_ Anna, I love you so much. And if we weren’t due to take the boat out, then I swear I'd show you,” he continues, and Anna giggles as she presses her lips against his once more. 

“Don’t worry,” she grins, “I’m sure you can make good on that one later.” 

. 

. 

. 

It’s late, by the time that they return to the harbor from their venture out on the smaller boat that he owns; and Anna smiles as he cuts off the engine and comes to sit beside her. She thought that they might head back to the ship, but he doesn’t appear to be in a rush to leave, and so she stays put as he casually drapes his arm over the seat behind her. 

“I’m sorry that we didn’t get to see any whales,” he sighs, “it’s not the season for them, really; but I thought that we might get lucky and catch a glimpse, anyway.” 

Anna smooths down the front of her dress and reaches out for his free hand, interlocking their fingers as she shuffles further into his side and rests her head on his shoulder. 

“I don’t mind,” she tells him, and she means it; nothing could spoil this day, this night – not even missing out on the opportunity to whale-watch. Besides, he’s taught her so much about the stars; answered some of the questions she’s been wondering, about constellations and patterns and the ways in which they change. “It just gives us all the more reason to look forward to coming back, right?” she grins, and he smiles as he squeezes her hand. 

“Right,” he chuckles, and he tilts his face so that the side of his cheek rests against her head. 

“I love you,” she says, her voice quieter than before; and she feels a little shy, now, feels less confident telling him when they aren’t wrapped up in the heat of the moment. 

Kristoff moves the arm that was draped over the back of the seat so that it hangs loosely across her shoulders instead, and she sighs happily as his warm hand wraps around the top of her arm. 

“I love you, too,” he responds, and Anna smiles as he places a tender kiss against her hairline. 

They settle into a comfortable silence, and she busies herself by absent-mindedly playing with his fingers, her lips quirked into a soft smile as she toys with them. 

“Thank you for this,” she breathes. “Today has been _perfect,_ and I just... thank you. For taking such good care of me.” 

“Of course,” he murmurs against her skin, and then she feels him stiffen from where he holds her. “And actually, there is one more thing,” he says, and Anna’s brows draw together in curiosity as he removes his arm from around her shoulders and moves to sit up a little straighter. 

She mimics his change of posture as she removes her head from the crook of his neck, and her eyes narrow slightly as he begins to rummage in the pocket of his shirt. 

“I – ah – I thought that, maybe, well. With you wanting to stay. With me. That – well, I know we haven’t had an official ceremony or anything yet, but I just – I figured –” 

Even in the moonlight she can see that his cheeks are flushed a dark crimson, and Anna’s eyes widen as she catches sight of the cause of his stuttered words. 

“You got me a ring?” she asks, her voice quiet, and Kristoff clears his throat as his eyes flicker between Anna and the small piece of jewelry. “Kristoff,” she breathes as he carefully presents it to her, the amber stone glistening in his hands. “I – _when_?” 

He chuckles, then – a little nervous, she thinks – and he watches as she slowly reaches out to accept it from his fingers. 

She’s never seen anything like it before. 

“Well, ah – when you. You know – when you told me that you wanted to stay, and then when you said that it was your birthday today, I just... I wanted to get you something. Something – I don’t know, _s_ _pecial._ So, I called Pabbie, from the ship –” 

Her brows furrow as she looks up at him rather than the ring. “Pabbie?” she asks, and he nods. 

“Oh, yeah – he, ah. You can meet him tomorrow, if you want. I had him make it for me. Well, for you.” 

Her light eyes lower to the ring in her hands once again. 

“You had it _made_?” she confirms, disbelief evident in her tone, and she carefully moves to slip the ring onto her finger. 

The gold band slides easily into place and fits perfectly on her skin, and her eyes water once more at the sight of it; so bright and so proud, tailored to her size so that it doesn’t move even as she tilts her hand upside down, and she swallows down the lump in her throat as the stone glistens marvelously in the moonlight. 

“Kristoff,” she breathes, laughter in her voice once more as she looks up to him, “I _love_ it. God, I – I love _you_.” 

The smile on his face seems easier now that he’s presented it to her, and the tension in his body evaporates as he loosens next to her, and Anna extends her palm towards him so that he can review the way that the ring looks on her finger before he yanks her towards him and slots his mouth against hers. 

“I’m so happy,” she breathes against his lips; and that giddy feeling has returned, that love-sick, crazy happiness that overwhelms her. It’s all she ever wanted when she was little, but years of isolation pushed it away. She can’t recall the last time that she felt so full of elation and excitement, and her cheeks burn from how widely she’s grinning, but she can’t stop smiling, now. 

Can’t stop touching him, either. 

. 

. 

. 

_Norway._

When he said it to her the first time, it had sounded like a promise; and now, she knows for certain that it was. 

They’ve made so many things, here in this place: promises and rings, contracts and memories. 

_Freja_ , too. 

(Although they won’t know about _that_ until later.) 


	29. Chapter 29

For once, the ship is quiet and calm and peaceful; gently rocked by the soft tide that comes from the port rather than the stronger waves out at sea. There are no men wandering the deck or lining the corridors, no loud, booming voices or wicked laughter echoing throughout. 

Anna giggles softly from where she is purchased on the edge of the mattress, and although she’s attempting to pull the twisted braid out of her hair, she’s rather distracted by the feel of Kristoff’s stubble grazing the inside of her thigh from where he’s sitting cross-legged on the floor between her parted legs. 

She had decided to test out the new silk pyjama set that she had found when they were out in town – a pastel blue shade that came with a matching robe – and it seems as though he liked it an awful lot. 

“Kristoff,” she scolds playfully, though there’s nothing but teasing in her tone, “that tickles.” 

She finally manages to loosen the braid and sighs happily once her strands are free from its tight hold. She shakes out her hair with both hands and doesn’t attempt to fight a smile at the feel of him pressing a chaste kiss to the inside of her knee. 

“You really want me to stop?” he asks, and she lowers her eyes down to see him cock a brow at her. 

Anna bits down on her lip as she shuffles a little on the bed, bringing her bottom further towards the edge of the mattress so that she’s closer to him than before. He tilts his head a little to the side so that the back of his head rests against her leg, and she moves one of her hands to his hair, smiling softly down at him as his eyes flutter to a close. 

“You know that I don’t,” she grins, and he chuckles before he re-opens his eyes and places one of his calloused palms on her thigh. 

“Yeah?” he asks, and her upturned lips drop slightly as he moves to press another kiss to the inside of her thigh, his eyes locked on hers whilst he moves to push himself up onto his knees. 

The change in position means that he’s instantly at eye-level with her, and Anna grins easily when his hands move to rest flatly on top of both of her bare thighs. 

“It’s still your birthday, after all,” he murmurs before he leans in and presses a tender kiss to her lips, and his hands squeeze softly over her flesh. “Why don’t you let me take care of you?” 

She’s hardly going to deny him, but she smirks anyway; revels in the way his eyes darken as they flicker between her upturned lips and her own light eyes. 

“Since you asked so nicely,” she murmurs, and she manages a breathy laugh before his lips are on hers again. 

He frees her of her shorts, though when she attempts to undress from her robe, he shakes his head from side to side, his mop of hair dancing with the movement. 

“Leave it on,” he says as he lowers himself further down on the floor again, and Anna’s cheeks flush a dark shade as he rubs his stubble against her skin once more. 

Kristoff nudges her knees apart and Anna spreads her legs further open, her mouth suddenly dry with the realisation that she’s completely bare before him. They may have been together before, but this feels different, somehow; more intense, and her breath hitches as he moves his tongue in order to wet his lips. 

His eyes lift to hers for a brief second, and he smirks at the sight of her reddened face. 

“You’re beautiful,” he tells her, his voice thick and full of lust, and Anna swallows thickly as he shuffles closer towards her. 

Her skin prickles as Kristoff moves at a leisurely pace towards her core, and it’s strange, the sensation of his warm breath dancing over the most intimate part of her. It’s certainly not unwelcome, and Anna’s thighs tremble slightly from the new sensation. 

Dark eyes flicker up to meet her own once more, and then his tongue moves to lick her from the bottom to the top of her slit in one long, slow movement. Anna’s lips part into a small _o_ as he repeats the motion, and the third time he does it, she whimpers softly. 

She falls back onto her elbows as he slowly laps at her, and she tries to focus on watching him whilst he works. It’s a sight to behold, she thinks; this strong, beautiful man on his knees before her, but it’s difficult to focus on anything at all once he slides two of his thick fingers into her heat. 

His name falls from her mouth in whispered pants, and her hands instinctively move to fist into the back of his head, drawing him impossibly closer towards her whilst she uses the strands of his golden hair to ground her. 

Anna’s thighs tremble as his tongue moves to circle her clit, the foreign sensation almost too much for her to handle; though she eventually cries out when he suckles against her, her hips bucking up against his face as she gasps. 

“Kristoff,” she hisses as her hips buck once more, and although she’s sure that her tight grip on his hair must hurt, he doesn’t complain. Instead, he moves his tongue and his fingers impossibly quicker over her, and she squeezes her eyes tightly to a close as he draws her clit into his mouth once again. “Kristoff, _please,_ I’ll – I’m going to –” 

She doesn’t finish the sentence as she finds her release, and warmth courses through her as he greedily laps up the evidence of her pleasure. Anna’s thighs tremble violently as her orgasm ripples through her like the soft waves that support the ship, though eventually, the sensation becomes far too much; and she tugs on his hair in order to encourage him to move up her body. 

Kristoff complies happily, though he braces himself on his arms over her so that his weight isn’t pinning her to the bed. She watches as he wipes at his damp mouth with the back of his hand before he lowers his head and presses a soft, chaste kiss to her lips. She wants _more,_ though; and so she chases his mouth with her own, smiling as he lets out a surprised huff when she wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him back down towards her. 

She deepens the kiss and moans into his mouth at the taste of herself on his tongue. 

“ _Fuck,_ Anna,” he practically growls, his eyes darkening impossibly as he blinks down at her, “I swear to god, if I could marry you right here, right now, I fucking would.” 

She giggles at that. “Why don’t we, then?” she asks, and he presses a quick kiss to her cheek before he frowns slightly. 

“I don’t know,” he says, brows furrowed in a way that makes her heart want to burst out of her chest, “I’m not sure that a priest is actually going to agree to marry us _here,_ but –” 

He’s teasing her, now; and she rolls her eyes before she tugs gently at his nape. “Kristoff!” she laughs, “I’m - I’m being _serious,”_ she tells him, her voice softer, now; and Kristoff cocks a brow at that as he regards her, his dark eyes darting all over her face. 

“You are?” he asks, uncertain; and Anna nods as she smiles shyly up at him. 

“Well – yeah,” she breathes, her cheeks flushing once more. “I already told you that – that I love you, and that’s not going to change. So... so why not?” 

Her wedding day was something that she had dreamed of so often as a young girl, a day that she had pictured in her mind for as long as she could recall. Whenever Anna had thought about getting married, she had imagined a church full of friends and family, a beautiful dress and an over-the-top tiered cake; and although she’ll never have the day that she had envisioned, she knows somehow that this will be better. 

She thinks of how this man has shown her more kindness and empathy and care than anyone else has done since the death of her parents, thinks of how he has not only protected her and cared for her, but how he’s also insisted that she learn how to do those things for herself, too. It’s not enough for him that she be weak, or timid, or vulnerable; he’s helped her to flourish, to grow in strength and courage and confidence, and he’s done it in a matter of weeks. 

She thinks of hands brushing on the crow's nest, thinks of first kisses and _I'll kill_ _him_ and _I love you_ _._ She thinks of the way in which he looked when he thought that he had lost her, of wild eyes and trembling hands and mussed hair and dirty hands, and she knows now that nobody could ever love her as strongly as Kristoff does. 

Even if they could, she wouldn’t want them. 

She wants him. Nobody else. 

“Marry me,” she breathes, and she reaches out to brush his hair away from his forehead so that she can properly look into his eyes. He’s in desperate need of a haircut, she thinks, but that can wait for now. “Today. Or tomorrow, anyway. I guess. What time is it? Anyway, maybe not _here,_ but –” 

He silences her with a kiss, and she happily melts beneath him. He kisses her intensely, his mouth moving rapidly against her own, and he’s panting by the time that he pulls away from her. 

“I’m supposed to be the one that asks _you_ ,” he breathes against her skin as he trails chaste kisses down her jaw. His large hands move to untie the silk robe, and she can feel the hard length of him pressing against her leg through his sweatpants. 

Anna giggles as he fumbles with the tie, and she bites down on her lip whilst she rakes her nails over his scalp. “You already did,” she tells him, and she moves her hand down to cup his face, though she turns the back of her hand against his cheek so that the amber stone of her ring brushes against his skin. “Remember?” 

He’s good with knots, she knows; and yet he struggles with the tie of her gown – no doubt from the way in which she’s distracting him with her wandering hands – and he lets out a frustrated grunt before he yanks at the material. The sound of it ripping beneath his hands causes Anna’s eyes to widen dramatically, and she gasps as she blinks up at him. 

“Hey!” she pouts, and she’s not _that_ upset, but it was a nice robe all the same. “Kris! That was brand new. _And_ expensive.” 

He rolls his eyes at that. “I’ll buy you another one, and you fucking know it,” he breathes over her neck, lips quirked in a smirk as she writhes beneath his wandering hands. 

“You better,” she manages to gasp out before his lips are on hers once more. 

. 

. 

. 

“Well,” Bulda grins as the two women approach the sea front, “ _that’s_ a sight that I never thought I’d see.” 

News of the impending ceremony delighted Kristoff’s mother, and she insisted on accompanying Anna into town in order to find something to wear. She knew that she wouldn’t find a wedding dress, but she’d found the closest thing that she could; a sleeveless, floaty floor-length pure white gown with a small train that fit her slender frame perfectly. Bulda had offered Anna her own veil from her wedding day, and the redhead had beamed happily as she accepted. 

Happy with their purchases, the two women had come out in search of Anna’s soon-to-be _official_ husband. Kristoff had things that he needed to arrange, too; although from the sight of him skimming rocks by the shore with Olaf, it would appear as though he had managed to sort out what he needed too much before they had done. 

Anna smiles softly at the sound of Kristoff’s chuckle being carried through the salty breeze. Both he and Olaf have their backs turned towards the town, so they are completely unaware of the women as they approach, and Anna feels her chest tighten at the sight of them stood side-by-side. 

“I think he might be having a little _too_ much fun,” Anna grins. 

They position themselves so that they’re sat on the low, stone wall that lines the sea front, and Anna keeps her eyes locked on the sight before her whilst they settle themselves down. Olaf whoops loudly as he mimics Kristoff and skims a stone across the water, and although his reaches out nowhere near as far as Kristoff’s had done, the blonde still praises him with a wide smile and a _good job_ _._

She loves him. She does. 

Bulda reaches out so that she can hold Anna’s left hand, and the redhead relaxes beneath her touch whilst she inspects the ring. It isn’t the first time today that his mother has examined the jewelry that her son has purchased, and yet her grin is just as wide as it was the first time that she saw it. 

“He always was such a sweet boy,” Bulda comments as her thumb brushes over the golden band of the ring. “This kind of life isn’t what I wanted for him. It’s not what I – _we –_ imagined. It’s certainly not been kind to him, all of this responsibility at such a young age.” 

Anna rolls her lips together and sighs softly before she smiles again. 

“He’s a good Captain, though,” she says, and her eyes narrow as the sunlight reflects out from the waves. “I never thought – well,” she blushes, remembering who she’s talking to. “He was awfully _rude,_ when we first met,” she says, and Bulda l aughs. “He was just – so cold, I guess. And grumpy – _god,_ was he grumpy. I swear, my jaw must have touched the floor when I first saw him smile.” 

The picture of his hard, serious scowl as he stared her down when she first stepped onto the ships causes her lips to quirk in amusement. Anna would have never thought back then that she’d feel the way that she feels towards him now, would have never imagined that she’d crave his closeness and his touch and his affection. 

“He’s looked after me so well, though,” she continues, her eyes locked onto him as he crouches besides Olaf and demonstrates something with his hand. “Right from that very first day. Not that I saw it then, of course; but he _did._ It's just – taken me some time to really see it, I think. And then we found Olaf, and came here, and I just...” she trails off then, her cheeks flushing in embarrassment. 

It’s nice, to have someone to talk to about all of this. Even if it _is_ his mother. 

“I told him last night that I love him,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper, and Bulda squeezes her hand tightly in both of her own. 

“I haven’t seen him this happy in a long time,” Bulda tells her. “After Cliff died, I knew that I’d never find love again. And whenever Kristoff spoke of marriage – well. He was always so _formal_ about it,” she says with a roll of her eyes, and Anna can’t help but laugh loudly at that. 

The sound of her laughter seems to catch his attention, and she doesn’t miss the way in which his head quickly snaps round so that he can find her. Their eyes meet instantly, and her stomach practically flips as he grins widely over at her. 

“It’s so nice, to see him smiling, now; to hear my baby laughing again,” she sighs as Kristoff whispers something to Olaf. “And I can’t thank you enough, Anna, because _you’ve_ done that to him.” 

Anna swallows down the lump in her throat, unsure of how to respond to Bulda’s words, but before she can, Kristoff and Olaf quickly make their way over towards them. It's a funny sight, she thinks; this tall, _huge_ blonde walking next to the scrawny, dark-haired boy, but it pulls at her heart like nothing she’s ever known, and Anna’s reminded once more of how much she loves him. 

He’s trying, she knows he is – knows that he claims that this doesn’t come naturally to him. 

Still, she thinks that he manages to pull it all off rather well, thinks that he’d easily have her fooled about him never having been around children before, if she didn’t know any better. 

She bites down on her lip as they grow closer – Olaf already shouting over about how many rocks he managed to skim and about how he’s almost better than Kristoff, now – and she tries her best not to get too far ahead of herself. The last thing that she needs to think about right now is how well this suits him. 

“Hey,” he smiles as he finally reaches her, and Anna’s shoulders relax slightly when he interlocks both of their hands. “Did you manage to get everything that you needed?” he asks as he steps towards her so that he’s standing directly before her, although he’s still far too tall, and Anna doesn’t hesitate to stand from where she had been sitting on the wall. 

“Yes, thank you,” she grins, and she pushes herself forward on her tiptoes so that she can press a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Did you?” 

His mother is listening attentively to Olaf’s tale, but Anna doesn’t miss the way in which the older woman smiles knowingly up at the couple, nor does she miss the way in which Kristoff’s smile goes a little lop-sided at the contact. 

“Yeah,” he nods, “didn’t take half as long as I thought. Thankfully, I was prepared,” he says with a knowing smirk, though Anna cocks a brow at that; curious by what he means. 

“What –” she starts, though he cuts her off with a knowing chuckle. 

“It’s a surprise,” he tells her, though his face falters a little when he sees the way in which her eyes widen at that. “Not a very good one!” he blurts out quickly, his cheeks stained pink as he blinks down at her. “I – ah – I'm not good at this stuff, so, you know. But – I'm not telling you yet, anyway. You’ll see soon enough.” 

Anna giggles at his explanation as she squeezes at his palms. “Alright,” she agrees, her light eyes dancing over his handsome face. 

She wonders how she ever managed to get so lucky; thinks of what good she ever did in her life to deserve this, to deserve _him,_ this man who can raise a gun to protect her in a heartbeat but blushes and stutters over his words around her. 

“I love you,” she tells him, her voice low and soft and quiet, and his shoulders sag as he lets out a happy sigh. 

“I love you, too,” he murmurs as he squeezes her hands, and Anna’s lips quirk at the way in which his eyes dart over towards his mother and Olaf before he looks at her once more. “So,” he breathes, a soft sigh escaping his lips, “are you ready?” 

“Of course,” she tells him, smiling widely, “I was _born_ ready.” 


	30. Chapter 30

_Breathe._

“Are you ready, sweetheart?” 

Bulda’s voice is soft and close yet still so far away, and Anna swallows thickly as she exits the car, her lips parted as she looks up at the tall, dark stave church. 

She had been expecting something a little smaller, she thinks; something quainter, or perhaps more modest – she isn’t entirely sure, truth be told. The structure isn’t exactly enormous by any stretch of the imagination, but it was hardly the tiny chapel that she’d had in mind for them when she suggested that they wed sooner rather than later. 

If anything, it’s yet another reminder to her of how the world as she has always known it to be has disappeared, has slipped through her fingers and vanished without a trace. 

They had been able to organise _this_ with just a few hours’ notice. It was absolute madness, but it was _real._

“Yes,” Anna manages to get out as she exhales a shaky breath once she’s exited the car. 

Her hands tremble slightly as she pulls the long veil that Bulda had gifted to her up and over her face, and his mother catches them in her own on their way back down to her sides. She raises them so that they’re level with Anna’s chest and gives them a tight, reassuring squeeze as her smile broadens. 

“You look beautiful,” she tells her. Not for the first time, either, since Bulda had accompanied her as she painted her face with neutral make-up and had also been the one to help style her hair into a half-up, half-down style. “I’m so proud to be welcoming you into our family.” 

_Family._

The word causes Anna’s chest to tighten impossibly more, and the redhead exhales another long breath as she attempts to calm her nerves. She bites down on her bottom lip as she glances up at the top of the church once more, and she shakes her head from side to side as she opens her mouth to speak. 

The words won’t come. 

She didn’t think that she’d feel so nervous; so anxious and tense and worried, but she _does._ Anna’s certain that he loves her – after all that he’s done for her, there’s no doubt in her mind about that – but she’s aware of what this means for _him_. 

Kristoff doesn’t owe her anything. 

Yet he’s given her everything. All that he has. 

“Do you think he’ll like the dress?” she asks, her voice trembling, too; and Bulda laughs softly, giving her hands one more squeeze before she finally releases them. 

“Anna,” she says, her dark eyes practically twinkling, “he’ll _love_ it.” 

. 

. 

. 

Anna walks herself down the aisle. 

It’s not the way that she ever imagined that this would happen. As a young girl, she naturally pictured her father giving her away whenever she dreamt of her wedding day. Once he had died, she assumed that Elsa would accompany her, or potentially her future father-in-law. He was, of course, harder to imagine; and she supposed that there were other options, too, like her groom’s best man, or brother, or – well. 

Endless possibilities, really. 

Still: somehow, this is better. 

More _powerful_. 

Bulda had gathered some wildflowers to make up a bouquet, and Anna grips them tightly as she makes her way through the centre of the pews and towards the alter. 

There’s not much of an audience, which was to be expected. Olaf is there, sat proudly besides Bulda, and Yelena and some of the other more senior members of the crew – like Kai and Oaken – are amongst the witnesses, too. Mattias stands proudly at the front, a loyal best man as much as first mate – 

But her eyes are locked onto a familiar pair of honey-brown, and she can’t look away. 

Her breath hitches at the sight of him in a dark navy suit. She hadn’t put much thought into what he might wear, but she certainly wasn’t expecting this level of commitment from him, and her heart rate increases rapidly as she continues her approach. He's wearing a light blue tie - one that almost matches the colour of her eyes - and a white shirt, and his hair is slicked back from his freshly shaven face. Anna’s thankful for the way in which the veil masks the way her eyes water at the sight of him, and she ducks her chin briefly in an attempt to calm the wide grin that spreads out across her cheeks. 

A few months ago – hell, a few _weeks_ ago – Anna would have thought it to be ridiculous, the idea of feeling so overwhelmed about the fact that a groom would dress nicely and make an effort for his bride. 

This isn’t _before,_ though. This is _now,_ and it’s her and it’s Kristoff and it means the world to her. 

They meet at the altar – his grin just as wide as her own – and Anna’s fingers twitch impatiently, desperate to reach out and intertwine with his as he slowly lifts her veil. His dark eyes dance over her face – that lop-sided smile that she loves so much lighting up his features – and she giggles softly as he breathes out a low _woah._

The unfamiliar priest begins to talk, snapping her back into reality momentarily, and Anna knows that it’s not time to grasp at his hands just yet, no matter how much she wants to. Instead, she clutches tightly to the bouquet in her hands and focuses on steadying her breathing. 

Anna doesn’t listen to a word that comes out of the stranger’s mouth. 

She’s too busy looking at Kristoff. 

The time comes where she can finally touch him, and Bulda gently takes the bouquet from her – her cheeks stained with tears and a wide grin on her face – and Anna’s shoulders sag dramatically when his skin meets hers. There’s a respectable distance left between the two of them, and the priest continues to drone on, but Anna can’t focus on anything other than the feel of his thumbs running over the backs of her hands. 

He circles over her ring, and Anna’s eyes flutter to a close as she smiles. 

The priest continues to read for some time before he eventually requests the rings, and Anna’s smile falters slightly as her lips part, confusion evident on her features. 

It’s not as though it’s of any significance, really, she thinks; in fact, she’d hardly given it any thought at all, simply assuming that Kristoff wouldn’t express any desire to wear a ring of his own. And it wouldn’t have mattered to her if he hadn’t wanted to, not after he had presented her with _this –_

But Mattias moves to stand from where he had been perched on the front pew, and he carefully presents them with two golden bands. Anna’s eyes widen dramatically at the sight of them, and her gaze flickers between the rings and Kristoff as tears threaten to fall down her cheeks. 

_Thankfully, I was prepared._

_It’s a surprise._

The priest calls on her first of all to repeat her vows. Anna doesn’t know how she manages it, really – not when she can hardly breathe, not when her chest is so tight and her eyes are full of unshed tears and her cheeks are starting to hurt from how widely she’s smiling. Somehow, she does, and her hands tremble more violently than before when Kristoff slips the band onto her finger. 

It’s a perfect fit, and it confirms what she had assumed to be true – that he’d had these made the same time that he had her engagement ring made. 

A single tear falls down her cheek, and Anna lifts her eyes to the ceiling in a desperate attempt to prevent any more from falling. Kristoff slips her engagement ring back onto her finger so that it sits neatly on top of the wedding band, and Anna huffs out a soft laugh before he squeezes her hands. 

A silent question, she thinks. 

She squeezes back. 

Kristoff’s voice is steadier than her own as he repeats the vows back to the priest, though his grin is broader than she’s ever seen it before as he continues to hold her gaze. Anna almost laughs at the size of his wedding band compared to her own, but instead, she focuses on ensuring that she doesn’t drop it, and her fingers tremble a little less once it’s securely settled at the base of his ring finger. 

Bulda’s sobbing, now, and Anna’s entire body is vibrating with excitement and adrenaline. She’s itching to throw herself into his arms, but she somehow manages to restrain herself until the priest finally says the words that she’s been waiting for – _you may now kiss your bride –_ and she steps forward onto her tiptoes as his large hands move to cup her face. 

His lips meet with hers and move softly against them, and though his kiss is familiar by now, this feels different, in a way. 

A vow of their very own, she thinks. 

Anna knows that she made for a lonely bride, but the next time that she walks down the aisle, she’s hand in hand with Kristoff, and she knows that she’ll never be lonely again. 

He’s all that she wants, all that she needs. Her husband. 

Her _family._

. 

. 

. 

Anna’s birthday had been the most perfect day, though she thinks that her wedding day has easily won the title of _best day of her life._ She’s spent most of the day pressed closely to her husband’s side, a wide grin on her face – especially when she found out about the polaroid camera and all of the pictures that had been taken – and her heart had been fit to burst. 

Now, though, she can’t help but cry. 

“You promise me that you’ll be a good boy?” she asks as she runs her hands through Olaf’s hair, and the little boy nods his head rapidly. 

“Yes, Anna, I promise,” he says. 

“And you know that we’ll be back soon enough?” she continues, tears streaming down her cheeks as she tries to keep her voice even. The last thing that she wants to do is traumatise the poor boy. “Twelve weeks, exactly. Bulda has a calendar back at her house, and you’ll be able to cross off the days with a marker and everything.” 

“I know, I know,” Olaf grins, and he squeaks out a giggle as she presses kisses over his cheeks. 

A horn sounds loudly from the deck of the ship, and Kristoff approaches in order to join her in saying her goodbyes. 

He bends at the knee and hunches his shoulders so that he’s closer to Olaf’s height, and he nudges at the boy’s chin with one of his large fingers, his dark eyes dancing over his features. 

Anna moves to stand as Bulda wraps her in a tight embrace, and her eyes pool with tears as she watches the two interact. 

“You sure that you’re ready for this, kid?” Kristoff asks, a small smile tugging on his lips. “You promise me that you’ll look after my ma until I –” his eyes dart up to Anna’s for a moment, and then his smile softens before he focuses on Olaf once more. “Until I’m home?” 

Anna’s breath hitches at that, and more tears fall down her cheeks as Olaf nods. 

“Yes, Kristoff, I promise,” he says, and the blonde’s expression softens impossibly more before he ruffles a hand through Olaf’s dark hair. 

“That’s my boy,” he says, and Olaf giggles once more before Kristoff moves to stand. 

Bulda releases her tight hold on Anna and holds her arms open towards her son, but just as Kristoff steps forward, he freezes in place as two thin little arms wrap tightly around one of his thighs. His arms hover in mid-air – surprise evident on his features as he blinks down at the little boy – but he exhales slowly and drops one arm to Olaf’s back, patting him gently. 

“I can’t believe I'm saying this,” Kristoff chuckles, “but I’m really gonna miss you, kid.” 

Anna can’t hold back her sobs any longer, although thankfully, Bulda joins her. 

. 

. 

. 

Her breathing evens out and her tears dry – the cool, salty breeze speeding up the process – but Anna can’t bear to watch them fade away, and so after one final wave and several kisses blown into the air, she dismisses herself to their quarters whilst Kristoff sees to the crew and the ship. 

True to his word, he bought her another silk robe. 

In fact, he had bought her several – had them brought to the ship and folded ready for her to place into her drawer and everything – and she bites down on her lip as she runs her hands over the crystal white set, an idea forming in her mind. 

He’s currently preoccupied on the top deck with Mattias, the pair of them attempting to arrange the men as they sail away, leaving Norway and the memories that they made there behind; and Anna makes quick work of stepping out of her dress. 

She won’t have long until he’s back here with her, and she wants to be ready for when he is. 

. 

. 

. 

“ _Christ,_ what a fucking – holy _shit_ ,” he breathes out as he steps into their quarters, and his dark eyes widen dramatically as he gapes over at her. 

In any other circumstances, she’d think that the expression on his face was adorable – his mouth hung open and his cheeks flushed and his entire body frozen into place – but she’s already started without him here, so _adorable_ isn’t really in her train of thought right now. 

The tall, wooden door swings loudly to a close behind him – and it was risky, really; since Mattias could have easily accompanied him, but it was their wedding night after all, and so she had hoped that his first mate would at least have had the sense to give the couple some privacy. 

(Thankfully, he had.) 

Anna giggles softly as his dark eyes trail over her, slowly drinking every inch of her in. She’s sat up on her knees in the middle of their bed, her hair now falling in loose, easy waves down he back, and she’s wearing nothing but the white silk robe that he had purchased for her. 

It came as part of a set – just like all of the others did – but she figured that she wouldn’t need the top or the shorts anyway, and so she hadn’t wasted any time in bothering to put them on. They’d only get in the way. 

She hadn’t bothered to tie the robe, either – the last thing that she wanted was for him to go ripping any more of her new clothes due to his impatience, especially when they were so pretty – and so it barely covers her at all, revealing inches of her skin to him. 

Kristoff swallows thickly. Licks his lips. 

He’s stood before her in seconds, his eyes darker than she’s ever seen them before. 

She grins as he hurries to settle himself down on the edge of the mattress, and Anna doesn’t waste any time in crawling over to him and settling herself down in his lap, her legs dangling over one of his thighs. She places one of her palms against his cheek, strokes her thumb over the soft skin there and flutters her eyes to a close at the feel of his hot breath fanning over her face on an exhale. 

He surprises her with a kiss that is fast and firm and passionate, his tongue sliding against her own, and Anna moans happily into his mouth. One of his large hands fists into her hair – auburn strands caught tightly between his fingers – whilst the other trails up the smooth expanse of her thigh. He squeezes at the muscle there before his hand wanders further beneath her robe, and he groans happily as his fingers fan out against one of her cheeks. 

He squeezes his hand again, and Anna whimpers as she shuffles against his chest, her fingers moving to unbutton the white shirt that he’s wearing. It’s their wedding night, and she had wanted to drag this out, had wanted to make it last; but she had felt his hardness pressed up against her through his suit pants from the second that she positioned herself on his lap, and she’s already close to the point of combustion, so she has a feeling that taking their time isn’t an option. 

He drops his hands away from her body so that he can shake his arms out of the shirt, and Anna rakes her nails appreciatively down his bare chest. His taut muscles flex beneath her touch, and she smiles knowingly before she kisses him again; one hand moving to grip at the back of his neck, the other ghosting across his abdomen as she made her way down to his pants. 

“ _Fuck,_ Anna,” he huffs against her lips, “I need you. _Now.”_

Her smile widens as she manages to pop open the button with ease – a little impressed at herself, admittedly – and she hurries to unzip them so that she can work her hand into his underwear. The angle makes it challenging, though, and Kristoff flattens his palms against the mattress and raises his hips with her still positioned on his lap so that she can attempt to tug the fabric down his thighs. 

He falters at her attempts, and they both laugh softly as he slides away from the mattress. They end up on the floor – her still in his lap and Kristoff with his back resting against the four-poster bed – and he’s able to kick himself free of the pants and his boxers, leaving him bare before her. 

Anna wants to take the time to appreciate him, she _does;_ but she’s warm and she’s wet and she’s more than ready for him, and she doesn’t want to wait, doesn’t want to delay the delicious sensation of having him inside of her, and so she quickly adjusts herself so that she can straddle him effectively. 

One of his hands moves to cup her ass whilst the other moves to grip at the base of his cock, and Anna grins wickedly as she looks up at him from beneath her lashes, and the dusting of freckles that dance across the bridge of his nose are so easy for her to count from this close angle. 

“I love you,” she tells him as she places her hands on his shoulders. 

The response is on the tip of his tongue, she knows; but she beats him to it as she presses a wet kiss against his mouth, and although she feels filthy for it, Anna channels the strength and the confidence that she had mustered when she walked down the aisle by herself earlier that day as she opens her mouth once more. 

“And – _god,_ Kris, I want to fuck you.” 

Her cheeks flush a dark shade of pink at her confession, but she grins at the whimper that escapes his throat in response, and she doesn’t hesitate any longer to position herself over the length of him and slide down. It doesn’t sting as much anymore – she's quickly adjusting to the size and width of his cock – and she sighs in satisfaction at the sensation of him stretching and filling her. 

The robe falls open around her, and Anna smiles softly as Kristoff presses gentle, wet kisses against the expanse of bare skin that he finds over her chest. She starts off with a slow and steady rhythm against him, rocking her hips and sliding her lips over his at an easy pace; but soon enough, she needs more, and she braces her feet flat against the floor so that she can move herself up and down his length with more force and speed. 

Kristoff grunts at the slight alteration, though he grins, too; and he nips at her bottom lip as his large hands slide up over her skin so that they can rest on either side of her waist. Everything about him makes her feel so tiny, and she grins at the way in which his fingers brush over one another from where his hands fill out the expanse of her lower back. 

The muscles in her thighs and her calves begin to burn as she continues to move against him at a quick pace; and almost as if he can read her mind, Kristoff tightens his grip on her waist as he begins to use his own weight to aid her with her thrusts. His biceps flex as he moves her, and Anna gasps against his mouth as he digs his nails into her flesh whilst he bounces her on his cock. 

The increase in the pace has Anna’s eyes squeezing tightly to a close, and she can’t focus on kissing him, not anymore; so she drops one of her hands from where it had been gripping tightly to his shoulder and makes quick work of circling two fingers over her throbbing clit. 

She cries out as her whole body trembles from the sudden sensation – pleasure coursing through her – and Anna’s breathing falters as Kristoff’s grip on her waist tightens even more. He shuffles himself against the floor beneath her, angling his hips slightly so that he can meet her thrusts with his own, and she hisses in pleasure as the change in angle means that he manages to reach a deeper part of her. 

“That’s it,” he grunts as her fingers continue to dance over her clit, “come on, Anna; I need you to come for me.” 

She drops her forehead against his shoulder as he continues to meet her thrusts, and Anna shakes her head desperately as her thighs tremble. The roll of her hips falters as she comes blissfully closer to her release, although Kristoff is thankfully quick to correct her, and his nails dig further into her flesh as he continues to move her up and down the length of his cock. 

“ _Please,_ Anna, _fuck,”_ he murmurs into her ear, and she can tell by his voice that he’s almost there, too. “Come on, baby; tell me I can, I –” 

His desperate pleas push her over the edge, and Anna cries out against his shoulder as her orgasm ripples through her without any further warning. Heat courses through her body as her walls clench tightly around him, his name falling from her tongue in stuttered breaths and weak gasps as she cranes her neck back. 

He continues to fuck into her, and he waits for her breathless command – _come for me, Kristoff –_ before he follows suit, bouncing her hips firmly several times before he buries himself to the hilt around her walls and spills himself fully inside of her with a relieved whine. 

Anna collapses against him then, the side of her cheek pressed against his collarbone as her entire body sags, and although his tight grip on her waist relaxes, too; he keeps his hands on her bare skin beneath her robe as he holds her into place against him. She can feel his heart pounding relentlessly and knows that her own is much the same, though eventually they calm down from their high. 

She giggles as he curses under his breath, and Anna moves to stand. He quickly follows her as she steps aside and ties her robe, and she lets out a content sigh when he cups her face with both of his hands and presses a slow, tender kiss to her lips. 

“I love you,” he tells her, and she kisses him again. “How does a bath sound?” 

She hums happily in response to the question as she stretches up on her tiptoes so that she can loop her arms around his neck, and he chuckles as his own hands drop from her face and come to steady her waist. He trails them lazily over the silk material of her robe, and he lets out a contended noise of his own. 

“It’s tempting,” she sighs, “but I’m not sure that I’m ready to leave you just get. It _is_ our wedding night...” she trails off, biting down on her lip, and Kristoff moves to slap one of his hands lightly against her ass. Anna’s eyes widen a little in surprise before she grins mischievously up at him. 

“Who said anything about leaving me?” he smirks, “you know damn well that tub is big enough for the both of us.” 

“Do I?” she asks him, and he huffs out a breath. 

“If it’s big enough for me, then it’s big enough for you,” he tells her, and she laughs softly as she presses a quick kiss to his mouth. 

“You’re not wrong,” she says, and she slowly lowers herself back down onto her heels. “Well, then – it sounds _wonderful,”_ she smiles. 

True to his word, he prepares them a bath; and just like everything else, it’s a perfect fit. 

(Especially when she straddles his waist once more.) 


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter takes place over the course of six weeks, so sorry if it seems a little jumpy!

He doesn’t ask for permission to touch or to hold or to kiss her, anymore.

He calls her _baby,_ too. 

Kristoff still finds himself following her lead with a lot of things - mostly because she’s so much better at all of this than he is - but he tests out new things, too; finds himself _wanting_ to try as opposed to just rolling with it because he feels like he should. 

Anna knows, of course. She doesn’t directly comment on the small changes in his behaviour - never mentions the familiarity or the affection that he displays more and more - yet he’s certain that she knows. 

He sees it in her eyes and her soft smile, feels it in the press of her lips against his cheeks and the squeeze of her hand in his, hears it in her _thank you_ ’s and _I love you_ ’s; and Kristoff’s still learning how to be a husband - and a good one at that - but he’s never been so _happy._

He thinks that she knows that, too. 

.

.

.

“She’s doing good,” Mattias tells him with a smile. 

Kristoff folds his arms across his chest as he continues to squint over at her. He’s been watching her from a distance for a while, now; just quietly observing as she delegates various tasks to the crew, and the tips of his ears burn from Mattias catching him out. 

_You’re allowed to watch your wife,_ he thinks defensively, though he doesn’t say that.

Instead, he agrees.

“She is,” he says, lips twitching just a touch as she effectively dismisses the man that she had been talking to, sending him on his way easily.

 _Doing good_ is an understatement. Kristoff’s chest swells further with pride each day as he watches her continue to adapt and embrace life on board his ship with ease and grace, so natural in this environment that he almost doesn’t recall a time when she wasn’t by his side. 

At least he knows for certain that there won’t ever be a time without her again.

“You are, too,” Mattias says, and Kristoff finally tears his eyes away from Anna for a moment so that he can turn his head towards the other man and frown.

He tries his best to keep his expression stern and serious, but it doesn’t last, and the blonde can’t help but break into a smile at the sound of Mattias’ sharp laughter.

“I’m being serious,” his first mate tells him as he composes himself once more, “you _are_.”

Kristoff sighs at that. He doesn’t know quite how to respond, and so he drops his eyes to the floor for a moment before he looks back up to where Anna’s now inspecting a large crate.

He’s trying. He’s _really_ fucking trying. 

“I know,” Mattias says - no teasing in his tone anymore - and _shit,_ did he say that out loud? 

His first mate claps him on the shoulder twice, and Kristoff’s eyes widen a little in surprise at the movement.

“It's nice to see you so happy, Captain.” 

He turns to leave, and Kristoff places his hands upon his hips as he watches him walk away without another word. He lets out another sigh before he squints over towards Anna once again; and this time, she’s looking straight back at him, a knowing smile tugging on her lips.

.

.

.

He continues to train her. 

It was never in his plan to stop, since teaching her the basics was never going to be enough for him. He wants _more -_ wants her skilled and swift and efficient, wants her confident and capable, wants her to be a strong match for anyone who ever dares to confront her.

Scratch that - he _needs_ her to be. 

Kristoff knows that Anna’s not weak, by any means; but there’s always room for improvement, and so he pushes and pokes at her in an attempt to bring out her best and motivate her further.

So far, so good. 

“Not quick enough,” he says as her sword falls to the floor, his own held casually in mid-air, and Anna huffs as she bends to retrieve it. 

“I’m _trying,_ ” she snaps at him as she stands to her full height, sword in hand once more; and Kristoff wants to relent to the harsh glare on her face, wants to tell her that he _knows_ she is, wants to tell her that she’s doing so good, that he’s so proud of her, but - 

“Try harder.” 

This method just seems to work better.

As expected, Anna pushes herself almost impossibly harder, though it’s still not enough to get past his defence. He’s been training to fight with a sword for as long as he can remember, and he’s not being overly fair to her, really - not since she could probably take out most of his crew with ease, and he knows that she’s likely to be a strong match for Mattias, too - but _good enough_ isn’t part of his plans for her.

Anna’s sword crashes to the floor once again just a few short minutes later, and he can’t help but let out a quick laugh at the way in which her irritated huff sends her bangs flying away from her forehead. The noise earns him another glare from her, and he thinks he might have genuinely pissed her off this time. 

“You’re such an _asshole,_ ” she grumbles under her breath - though she knows full well that he can hear - and her chest rises and falls quickly as she attempts to regain her composure. 

“I know, baby,” he grins at her, and Anna’s eyes narrow even more at the nickname, “but in my defence, it’s not _my_ fault you’re so slow.”

Anna opens her mouth to respond, though he catches her off guard as he takes one long stride towards her and cups the side of her face with his hand. The movement is fluid and quick, and Kristoff lowers himself so that his forehead presses softly against her own. 

She’s expecting a kiss, and _fuck,_ he’d love to give her one; but he’s training her, and she really does need to be better, so - 

“See,” his murmurs, voice quiet and low as his breath fans across her face. 

Her eyelashes flutter and her jaw moves beneath his fingers as she swallows, and _shit,_ it’s so tempting being this close to her, and it takes all of his self-control not to lean down further and close the slight distance between their mouths. 

She’ll give him hell for this later. She’ll torture him in her own way, he’s certain. 

“Not quick enough.”

Kristoff spins the sword in his hands as he bends his elbow and grips it carefully, grins as the tip of it presses ever so slightly against her abdomen through her dark leggings, and Anna’s face hardens once more. 

“Now, you’re dead,” he finishes. 

He kisses her just in time to silence her frustrated growl. 

.

.

.

Kristoff doesn’t bother to knock on the door. Instead, he pushes it open and nods towards where Yelena is sitting in her armchair, a book in one hand, mug of tea in the other. 

“What happened?” he asks from where he hovers in the doorway, and she shrugs her shoulders as she peers up at him over her reading glasses.

“Don’t ask me,” she responds, “you know that I couldn’t care less for gossip. I fixed him. That’s all that matters.”

The blonde rolls his eyes at her words. “That’s funny, because I’m pretty sure all you and Mattias _ever_ do is gossip.”

The older woman’s lips twitch ever so slightly at that. “I wouldn’t say that’s _all_ that we do,” she responds, though Kristoff simply looks at her with a blank expression before she rolls her eyes dramatically and places her book page-down on her lap. “He got into a fight with one of the younger men. Something about them being disrespectful.” 

His neutral expression falls into a frown, now. “Disrespectful?” he confirms, mind already reeling over the possibilities. “How? Did he not say anything else?”

Yelena shakes her head. “No,” she says, sounding almost sad - no doubt irritated by the lack of information she acquired. “Just screamed. I do wish your wife would have been around to see it - I told her that these idiots are always dislocating something or other.”

Kristoff rolls his eyes at that, though he has nothing more to say on the matter. He’s not got the patience to be dealing with unruly members of his crew, though he’s got no choice - he can’t just leave incidents like these.

He’s just about to turn and leave when Yelena speaks up again. 

“Since you’re here,” she says, “I may as well get you to remind Anna that she’s due her next broth.” 

He frowns, then, and he turns his head over his shoulder whilst he narrows his eyes at her. “Broth?” he repeats, confusion evident on his features, and Yelena smirks knowingly over at him.

“Yes,” she says, “her contraceptive broth.”

Kristoff’s eyes widen dramatically at that, and he nods his head quickly before he hurries out of the room, ignoring the sound of her laughter echoing before the door swings to a close behind him. 

.

.

.

His eyes dance over the ring that sits proudly on his left hand, and Kristoff leans further back into the leather of his chair as he spins the gold band ever so slowly. He pinches carefully at either side of it as he slides it repeatedly up and down the length of his finger, and he leaves it to hover for a moment over his first knuckle as he traces the small mark that it has left behind.

He misses the weight of it immediately.

He thinks a lot about love and what it means to him, now. He doesn’t know for sure when it happened - has nothing particularly identifiable to note when it was that he fell for her - and he wonders if that’s normal, or if it’s something that he should know. 

He wonders whether Anna would be upset if she knew that his love for her was something that had burned slowly until it consumed him without warning as opposed to something that he felt the very first time that he saw her; and Kristoff wants to ask, wants her to teach him and tell him, to listen and explain, but he’s worried she’ll be hurt or offended or upset and so he swallows down his questions and continues to follow her lead. 

Still - he thinks that he’s getting better at being a husband. 

His lips curve into a small smile as he slides it back down into place, and his eyes lift immediately at the sound of the bathroom door closing. 

Anna smiles fondly over towards him as she finishes pulling her hair into a loose, messy ponytail on the top of her head, and then she’s padding over to him, that smile lingering on her face as she approaches. Kristoff’s cheeks darken a little as he pulls his fingers away from his ring and grips at the edge of his desk so that he can use the momentum to push the chair away from it, leaving her with more than enough room to come and stand directly before him. 

He doesn’t miss the way in which her silk pyjamas emphasise the sway of her hips as she moves closer, the dark green shade of them causing her light eyes to appear impossibly brighter, and Kristoff places the palms of his hands flat against the backs of her thighs once she reaches him as she simultaneously drapes her arms around his neck.

They move in sync with one another, their touches familiar and comfortable and easy. 

It causes him to grin. 

His fingers dig into her skin ever so slightly as he squeezes at her, and she smiles as she leans forward, her face close enough that he could kiss her easily, but far enough away that they can look at each other properly, too. 

“Hey,” she whispers as she brushes the tip of her nose against his own. “Penny for your thoughts?”

She saw him playing with the ring. Of course she did.

Kristoff lets out a low hum as he squeezes her thighs once more, his eyes dancing over her face as he blinks up towards her. They’ve been incredibly lucky with the weather recently, and with her hair tied back away from her face, he can tell how much the May sunshine has darkened her freckles. 

“Just thinking about how lucky I am,” he responds, his voice equally as low as hers; and he still finds it a little awkward, admitting things like this to her, but she rewards him with a dazzling smile and a long, slow kiss. 

“Funny,” she breathes against his lips as she pulls away ever so slightly, “because I was thinking the exact same thing.” 

Her left hand snakes around to briefly cup his cheek, and Kristoff’s smile widens at the feel of the cool metal brushing against his skin. He doesn’t have time to linger on that thought, though; and his eyes widen as she trails her fingers down the column of his throat, drags them over the material of his shirt, and a quick breath escapes his lips as Anna cups him through his pants. 

His hips buck instinctively, and she giggles softly as she bites down on her lip.

“What are you doing?” he murmurs, his lashes fluttering as she slowly pulls on the zip. 

“Isn’t it obvious?” she responds with a quirk of her brow, and he chuckles before he tilts his head back slightly and captures her lips in another kiss. 

She quickly slides her fingers beneath the waistband of his underwear, and Kristoff breaks their kiss as a low groan escapes his throat when Anna wraps one of her palms around his length. She uses her free hand to tap at his thigh, and he quickly takes the hint; angling his hips away from the base of the chair so that she can pull the restrictive clothing down to his mid-thighs, exposing him fully to her. 

Kristoff has long since stopped being embarrassed about the noises that she pulls from him whenever she touches him, and he hisses loudly as she slowly moves her hand up and down his cock. Anna giggles as he groans again when her thumb sweeps over the tip, and she presses a quick kiss to his lips that encourages him to look up at her.

“I want to try something,” she says to him, though he knows she’s asking a question, really - seeking permission - but he’s already far too gone to think about it. 

He wouldn’t say no, anyway, not if it’s something that she wants, and so he nods his head in a quick, jerky movement before he closes his eyes once again. 

Kristoff is vaguely aware of the fact that she pulls herself further away from him and begins to move, though he can’t focus on much else other than the way in which her small hand works away at him. His eyes fly open as he senses her lowering herself down, and he inhales a ragged breath at the sight of her kneeling before him. 

“Anna?” he murmurs, confusion laced in his tone, but she smirks as she shushes him. 

“Can I?” she asks - warm breath dancing over his sensitive skin - and her smirk grows wider as he full-on _whines_ at the question.

She doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t wait for him to answer.

Anna presses a lingering kiss to the tip of his cock, and he wants to watch, he _does,_ but it’s already far too much for him to handle; and his head thumps loudly against the back of his chair as he attempts to steady his breathing, to focus on controlling himself. 

He’s not going to last long at all.

Her tongue trails over him experimentally - the way that it had done just minutes before when she had licked into his mouth - and Kristoff’s thighs tremble when she sweeps it up and down his entire length. He grips the armrests of the chair tightly as she swirls her tongue around him, her saliva lubricating him as she continues to pump her hand slowly, though one of his hands instinctively moves to grip at her ponytail as she begins to suck him into her mouth. 

He doesn’t push down, doesn’t use his grip on her hair to maneuver her or hurry her. It serves as something to focus on, as something to ground him - or at least he hopes that it will. 

Anything for him to last just a little longer, to not embarrass himself like some horny fucking teenager.

She works her mouth and her tongue around half of his length and uses her hand to pleasure the rest of him. It doesn’t take long at all for that familiar sensation to pool within him, and Kristoff gasps as she suckles on the head of his cock. His hips buck instinctively, and Kristoff’s jaw hardens as he finally blinks his eyes open so that he can chance a peek at her. 

It’s too much. 

The sight of Anna on her knees, one of her hands wrapped around the base of his cock, her cheeks hollowed as she works at the rest of him - 

“Anna,” he pants, shakes his head from side to side as he gently nudges at her ponytail in an attempt to encourage her to stop. 

She looks up at him through her lashes, though she doesn’t stop. She holds his gaze for a long moment before she swirls her tongue once again, and Kristoff hisses as his grip on the armrest tightens. 

“I can’t,” he says, desperate and wanting and _so close_. “I’m gonna - I won’t last, I -”

Her face falters as she grins up at him, and he watches with wide eyes as she swiftly increases her pace. 

It was too much before, but now that he’s looking at her, now that he’s watching as she eagerly bobs her head up and down his length - he can’t hold back anymore, can’t wait, and Kristoff groans loudly as she works him to his release. He spills himself into her mouth, his thighs trembling violently as his chest heaves, and he squeezes his eyes tightly shut as she milks him for all that he has.

He has no idea how long he sits like that for. It can’t be _that_ long, he knows, though it feels like it could be forever; and Anna doesn’t bother to cover him up before she settles herself down into his lap. Kristoff drapes one of his arms loosely around her waist, and he hears her giggle as she raises one of her hands to his cheek. 

The cool of the metal pressing against his skin causes him to smile in the same way that it did before, and Kristoff sighs as he tilts his head in order to press a kiss against the inside of her palm. His eyes eventually open so that he can look at her, and despite the blush on her cheeks, she looks rather pleased with herself. 

“Are you okay?” she asks, laughter dancing in her voice, and he offers her a lop-sided grin. 

“Never better,” he tells her, and Anna giggles as she swoops forwards and kisses him. 

She means it to be a chaste kiss, but Kristoff doesn’t hesitate to deepen it, and he groans at the bitter taste of himself on her tongue.

“Give me a minute, and I’ll make it up to you,” he promises, and Anna hums happily in response before she returns to kissing him. 

.

.

.

Weeks pass by before they run into an unexpected vessel, and Kristoff bends at the waist in order to tie the laces of his boots before he clears his throat. 

“Are you sure?” he asks, his brows pulling together as he steps further towards the bed. 

Anna’s lay on her side, the covers tucked up to her chin and her face obscured by the pillows. He knows that she’s wearing nothing more than one of his cotton t-shirts, and he sighs softly as he sits himself down on the corner of the mattress. 

“I’m sure,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper, and Kristoff swallows thickly at the sound of it as he reaches out and tucks some of her hair behind her ears. 

She misses Olaf terribly. She’s told him so; and no matter how much safer the little boy is with his mother in Norway, Anna’s never going to stop worrying about him or thinking about him or missing him. 

He knew that situations like these would be difficult for her to deal with - especially after everything that she’s been through in such a short space of time - but Kristoff doesn’t know what to _do._

Not for the first time, he wishes that his father would have spent at least some time - however brief - teaching him how to be a good husband; things like what to say and when to say them, or how to interpret certain words and what they might mean when said in different tones, and he feels utterly hopeless as he smooths down her hair. 

“I’ll stay here, if you want me to,” he says, and she opens her eyes, then - looks at him strangely: a mixture of disbelief and horror. “What?” he asks, light laughter in his voice as he smiles at her. “I mean it. I will.”

He’s not lying. He’ll sit this one out with her if she needs him to. 

“No,” she says with a shake of her head, “I don’t - no. I’ll be fine, I - I _am_ fine,” she corrects when his smile falls suddenly. “Just… just be as quick as you can, alright?” 

He won’t make her tell him twice, and so he leans forwards and places a lingering kiss on her forehead before he moves to stand. 

“I’ll be back soon,” he promises, and she offers him a weak smile before her eyes flutter to a close and she burrows herself further into the pillows. 

.

.

.

Once it’s finished, Kristoff doesn’t return to their quarters immediately. 

He has no doubt that she’ll have heard the gunshots that rang out over the sea, but that doesn’t mean that she needs any further reminders of what this part of his job entails. So, he washes his hands and his arms in Mattias’ room - it takes him a while, but he waits until the water runs clear once more - and he strips himself of his shirt. Kristoff makes sure that there’s no blood on his pants or his boots before he leaves, and his entire body relaxes as he steps over the threshold of their room and locks the door behind him. 

Anna is exactly where he left her, and Kristoff makes quick work of stripping the rest of his clothes before he hurries to join her beneath the covers. He’ll have a full shower later on, will cleanse his skin and his mind once she’s settled and asleep; but for now, he needs a moment with her, needs her close and safe and warm in his arms.

“I love you,” she whispers before she presses a kiss to his cheek. 

He smiles despite himself. 

.

.

.

It’s been six weeks since they left Norway, and Anna can’t stop touching him. 

It bothers him more than he lets on. 

Not her actual _touch,_ of course; because he craves that, too, finds himself wanting to be close to her constantly, wanting to explore her skin with his fingers in ways that only he can. But Kristoff knows the reason why she’s like this with him, and he knows deep down that it’s not for the same reasons as his own.

It causes anger and frustration and sadness to stir within him, and he hates himself for this. She shouldn’t have to feel like this, shouldn’t need a constant reminder that he’s there, that he’s alive, and the only person he can blame for it is himself. 

Her pain serves as a constant reminder to him of what happens when he fucks up, when he doesn’t protect her properly. She’s his _wife,_ and this is all his fault, and the very least that he can do is use this to remind him why he needs to do better, why he needs to _be_ better. 

He loves her so much. 

If he could end her sister all over again, then he would.

Anna tells him of how she doesn’t like to think about it too much, doesn’t like to actively remember the way that she saw him sprawled across the floor of his cabin, surrounded by a pool of blood oozing from the side of his skull. It wasn’t the last time that she thought that it was going to be, and she doesn’t have to live the rest of her life without him, taken away from her new home with her final memory of him being _that_ \- 

But she needs reminding, sometimes.

Kristoff tries his best to be what she needs. 

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs into her hair, his own eyes squeezed to a close as he focuses on the warmth of her skin against his own, of the way in which her strands of auburn hair tickle his nose, and he inhales deeply before he speaks again. “I’m _here._ ”

His arms wrap impossibly tighter around her small frame as she cries softly into the crook of his neck, her shoulders heaving with each strangled sob. None of her nightmares are _great,_ obviously; but this has to be one of the worst ones that she’s had so far, and Kristoff doesn’t stop touching her - strokes her hair and presses kisses against her skin and keeps her chest pressed closely to his own - until she calms down. 

Her breathing settles and her trembles fade, and eventually, he moves them so that he’s lying on his back with her head resting on his chest. Anna nestles the top of her head beneath his chin, pressing her ear against his heart as she does so, and Kristoff tries his best to refrain from grimacing as her dainty fingers brush tenderly over the graze on the side of his head.

It’s healing well enough. She checks it every day, though they’ve far surpassed the point where she needs to do that. 

It doesn’t mean that it’s comfortable, though; and his lips roll into a tight, thin line as he holds back a groan. It’s not necessarily painful - it’s tender, more than anything, a dull ache that feels _strange_ \- but even if it was, Kristoff wouldn’t ask her to stop. 

He’ll do whatever it takes to heal her. 

“I love you,” she whispers to him, her voice thick from crying. “And I’m so sorry.”

“Anna,” he murmurs back, his tone full of warning, “don’t.”

“I _am,_ ” she responds, firmer and louder; and she shuffles so that she’s pressing herself up on one of her elbows as she blinks down at him. 

Kristoff can’t see her well in the darkness of the room, though he can feel that her face is close to his own, and he sighs as her fingers move away from his healing wound as she cups his cheek instead. 

Her thumb strokes tentatively back and forth against his cheekbone, and Anna presses a quick, chaste kiss against his lips before she straightens once more. 

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” she tells him, her voice quiet once again, and Kristoff raises one of his own hands and wraps it around her wrist.

“You’ll never have to know,” he says solemnly. 

He means it. 


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kind of a long one, ooooooop. I blame the E rating.
> 
> trigger warning for the tags

Kristoff never had a teddy bear.

He never had a comfort blanket, either - nothing to cling to, nothing to hold - and although his mother was there with her warm hugs and soft songs before he went to sleep, nights on the ship were just as lonely as the days. 

He knows that’s why he is the way that he is with Anna now, knows that it’s why his body seeks her out even in sleep. 

He tried to be careful in the early nights that he held her - was worried that he might crush her small frame beneath his much larger one - but he’s comfortable and therefore sloppier now, and Kristoff wakes up and finds himself pressed against her in all kinds of positions. 

He’s well and truly clinging to her this morning. She’s positioned on her back and he’s on his side with one of his legs draped over both of hers. His arms are wrapped tightly around her waist - one resting heavily on her abdomen, the other slipped around her back, and Kristoff yawns against her skin as he begins to stir.

As he starts to come to, he realises just how tightly he’s pressed against her, and her wavy hair tickles his face from where it fans around them both. He begins to pull away from her, though she makes quick work of yanking him back into place against her. A soft chuckle escapes his throat, though he groans happily when one of her hands moves to bury itself into his hair. 

Her fingernails tickle lightly against his scalp whilst her other hand moves over his bicep, and his smile grows as she begins to trace light, loose patterns over his skin with one of her fingers.

If he didn’t know any better, then he would swear that she was spelling out her name against his skin. 

“Mornin’,” he murmurs to her as he squeezes her waist, his voice thick with sleep, and Anna sighs softly as she presses a chaste kiss to his hairline.

He thinks then of how funny it is, the way that things can change so dramatically in such a short space of time. The time when he would only dare to give into the temptation to reach over and brush his fingers across her cheeks whilst she was sleeping wasn’t all that long ago, yet look at them now. 

And it’s time like these when he thinks that the past doesn’t matter so much. Not anymore. 

All of the things that he felt were missing in his childhood, all of the pieces of the puzzle that were out of reach now seem to have slipped into place; and Kristoff knows that Anna’s never going to be able to fix everything, but she’s _here,_ and that’s more than enough for him.

She’s here and she’s real and she’s _his,_ most of all; and it’s more than he ever dared to dream that he would have. 

.

.

.

Kristoff knew that their luck with the weather would only last for so long, and Anna isn’t doesn’t enjoy her first storm, to say the least.

She’s settled down now despite the fact that the ship still rocks violently against the harsh waves, and her soft snores fill the air from where she’s positioned with her head buried in his lap and her body curled into his side. 

He rests with his back against the porcelain tub and runs his fingers through her hair. His thighs feel numb after a while, and the scent of her vomit still lingers in the bathroom; and so he lets out a heavy sigh before he moves to stand and then easily lifts her into his arms. 

He’s careful not to disturb her as he carries her to bed, and he does his best to tuck her in before he moves to clean up the mess that was left in the bathroom. 

Kristoff has never known a storm to make someone vomit before, but he supposes that stranger things have happened. 

.

.

.

Anna yawns as she burrows her face further into the pillows, and Kristoff smiles softly at her as he sits himself down on the edge of the mattress and proceeds to kick off his boots. 

“Are you sure you’re alright?” he asks with a soft chuckle as he pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it unceremoniously onto the floor. 

He’s had a busy morning thus far, and he’s sure that he doesn’t smell particularly pleasant, though he thinks that ridding himself of the sweat-soaked material might help. He leaves his pants on as he swings his legs up and onto the bed and makes quick work of sliding beneath the sheets.

“What do you mean?” 

“You’ve just seemed a lot more tired than usual, these last few days.”

Anna shrugs her shoulders as she snuggles herself close to him, her head resting underneath his chin and her arms wrapping around his waist. Kristoff’s never been the kind of man who wastes his days away in bed - life on the ship made sure of that - yet she makes the prospect of it seem so _appealing._

“I’m sure,” she says as she buries her face into the crook of his neck and inhales a long, deep breath as his bare arms wrap around her slender frame.

“And you - you’d tell me if something was wrong?” he asks, “you wouldn’t _not_ say anything?”

“Kristoff,” she giggles, “nothing’s wrong, I promise. But if there _was,_ then I would definitely tell you.”

She squeezes her arms gently, and the remaining tension in his shoulders eases away as he leans forward in order to bury his face into the top of her hair. He can’t shake the feeling that he’s missing something, though. 

Anna tilts her head back so that she can press a quick kiss to his stubbled chin. “I can almost _hear_ the wheels in your mind turning,” she murmurs, and he huffs out a breath before he looks down at her. 

She’s beautiful.

The most extraordinary woman he’s ever known, and she’s _his._

“I just -” he starts, then frowns. “I worry about you,” he admits, and her eyes soften as she blinks up at him. Kristoff moves his hand to her face so that he can tuck some of her hair behind her ear before he cups her cheek, the gold metal of his ring pressing against her jawline. “A lot. And I want to look after you, Anna, I - I want to take care of you.”

She smiles widely at him as she removes one of her arms from around his waist so that she can reach up and wrap her fingers around his wrist. 

“You _do,_ ” she tells him, giving his wrist a slight squeeze. “Kris, you do, and I - I love you. So much.”

He smiles, too. 

.

.

.

Kristoff doesn’t press Mattias on the issue with Tony. 

He trusts his first mate. Knows that his decisions are made with sound reason. 

More than anything, he’s confident that Mattias can more than handle any trouble that may come his way. 

His wife, on the other hand -

“It’s fine,” she says, then frowns, “ _Kristoff._ ” 

“What?” he responds, perhaps a little too harshly; but he’s wound up and frustrated by the fact that he wasn’t there when this guy decided to have an attitude with her _._

Her face doesn’t relax. If anything, it hardens, and Kristoff lets out a heavy sigh.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she continues as she crosses her arms tightly over her chest. 

“And what’s that?” he says as he steps towards her, his hands coming to rest on either side of her waist. 

Anna’s arms remain crossed over her chest as she continues to frown up at him, her brows pulled tightly together. 

She’s pissed. Usually, she would have at least cracked a _small_ smile by this point. 

“That I can’t handle this,” she says, “that I can’t handle _myself._ ”

Kristoff opens his mouth and instinctively tries to deny her statement. He searches desperately for the words, but they won’t come, and he ends up staring down at her with his mouth half-open whilst she blinks up at him expectantly. 

A small, desperate noise falls from the back of his throat, and Anna throws her arms back down by her sides. 

“I knew it!” she huffs as she turns on her heel and strides away from him, heading towards the door. 

Kristoff’s arms remain outstretched and his eyes widen dramatically as he watches her hurry away. 

“Anna, wait -”

“No,” she snaps as she reaches the door, her eyes locked onto his once more as she turns to look over her shoulder. “I have been on this ship for three and a half months. I’ve -”

“I _know_ ,” he says as he steps towards her, and _fuck,_ he _does,_ he knows everything that she’s been through, knows she doesn’t need to prove herself to him again, but it’s not the _point._ “Trust me, okay? I -” 

His eyes flicker to the way in which her small hand tightens against the doorknob, and he swallows thickly. 

“Look, I know you can handle yourself.” 

She raises her eyes to the ceiling at that, and he tentatively moves towards her. 

“I _do_ , but I just - _shit,_ ” he huffs. 

Kristoff runs one hand through his hair as he continues to move slowly towards her, and he sighs heavily in frustration. He doesn’t know how to explain this to her, doesn’t know the words to use in order for this to make any sense - and for him to also not come across like a possessive asshole.

But she’s _his_. And as far as he’s concerned, anyone who so much as thinks about looking the wrong way at her is more than deserving of a bullet. 

“You’re my _wife,_ ” he says, and he watches as she eyes him suspiciously. “I’m allowed to feel - I’m allowed to be pissed that someone spoke to you like shit, aren’t I?”

He didn’t think it was unreasonable to want to kill someone for having an attitude with her.

He doesn’t miss the way in which her expression softens slightly at his question, and he steps closer towards her again. 

He wonders if she thinks that it’s a rhetorical question, if she thinks that he’s trying to make some kind of vague point, but he’s genuinely not. 

Kristoff doesn’t have a fucking clue what he’s doing with any of this. 

She sighs then, and he didn’t even realise that he had said those words out loud; but as he watches her remove her grip on the door handle, he’s almost relieved that he did. 

Anna looks to be deep in thought as her light eyes search his face, and Kristoff remains completely still - within easy reach of her now, if she wants him - whilst she looks. 

“Yes,” she says, her voice shaky and barely above a whisper. “I - _yes,_ Kris, of course you are.” 

His tense shoulders sag at her words, and before he can so much as blink, her arms are wrapped tightly around his waist and her face is buried in his chest. The sudden movement catches him by surprise, but he relaxes quickly into the contact as his own arms wrap around her. 

.

.

.

His pa might not have taught him much about how to be a good husband, but he sure as hell taught him a lot about how to be a Captain. 

One of the first lessons that Kristoff learned from his father is that if a Captain knows the name of one of the basic members of his crew, then it’s never usually for a good reason.

.

.

.

It’s fourteen days later when he snaps. 

He’s been busy talking through the different routes back to Norway with Mattias, though he planned to meet Anna in the control room, and he finds himself rushing through the dark corridors of the ship in order to meet her on time. He had promised to teach her about the more technical parts of steering the ship and detecting approaching vessels, and he curses himself at the thought of being late for her.

He slows his pace somewhat as he gets closer and closer towards the final stretch that leads towards the control room, though the sound of raised voices catches his attention. He’s sure that he can hear her, and he treads carefully as he listens; his footsteps silent as he continues to move. 

Her voice fades away as she’s interrupted, and Kristoff frowns as he turns the corner that takes him to the steps of the control room. 

Anna spots him straight away, her shoulders sagging immediately, though Tony doesn’t, and Kristoff continues his quiet approach. 

“- and if you think I’m gonna let some dumb _bitch_ boss me around, jus’ because you spread your fuckin’ scrawny legs for the Captain, then you’re dead wrong, I -”

A heavy blow to the back of the head shuts him up immediately. He bends at the waist as one of his hands move to cradle the spot where he was just punched, but the blonde doesn’t hesitate; and he grasps the smaller man by the collar and shoves him against the wall in a harsh but fluid motion. 

The corridor is dark, and tight, and narrow; and the Captain presses himself closely towards the other man as he wraps one of his hands around his throat. 

“Who the fuck do you think you’re speaking to?” he spits out, and his heart thunders in his chest as rage courses through him. 

A gun would have made this a hell of a lot easier, but he’d left that in their room.

 _Fuck -_ he was just supposed to be showing her the _controls,_ for fucks sake.

“Get inside, Anna,” he manages to bite out, though he doesn’t avert his eyes - not for a moment, not even at the sound of her soft gasp. 

His grip on the man’s throat tightens as he squeezes firmly, and he doesn’t so much as blink as he watches and waits. He just about recognises the sound of Anna’s feet shuffling along the steps that lead up to the control room door. 

Tony’s mouth opens as he attempts to gasp for air, his eyes wide and bulging, and the Captain’s grip on his throat tightens in response. 

“Nobody with any sense speaks to _my wife_ like that,” he scowls, “and _this_ is what happens when dumb fuckers do.”

.

.

.

He leaves the body slumped in the corridor. Figures that someone will get rid of it later.

He instinctively locks the door to the control room behind him, and he lets out a ragged breath at the sight of her.

She’s standing by the wheel, her eyes wide and her face paler than he’s ever seen it before, and he only hesitates for a moment before he hurries towards her. 

Her name falls easily from his lips, a breathy sigh of relief as he cups her jaw with both of his hands. The warmth of her skin against his reminds him that she’s _here,_ that she’s _alive,_ and he’s certain that his eyes are just as wide and as wild as her own as they dance over her face.

“Are you okay?” he asks, voice thick, and Anna nods her head as she blinks up at him.

“Yeah,” she responds, her lips trembling slightly.

His heart continues to race as he looks over her, examining her flesh for any bruises or marks, hints or clues that the fucker might have dared to lay a finger on her.

“I - yeah, I’m fine, Kris, I -”

He cuts her off with a kiss. 

Kristoff can’t hear anything other than the sound of his pulse as it vibrates through his body and into his eardrums, but Anna barely hesitates at all to return his eager display of affection. 

Her hands find purchase at his nape as he opens his mouth into her own, and a low groan rumbles through his chest as she digs her fingers into the hairs there. He kisses her more desperately than he ever has done before, and he pants into her open mouth when they pull away for air.

Kristoff squeezes her hips tightly as he pulls her closer so that their bodies press firmly against one another’s before he slots his lips over hers once more, but the angle just isn’t _enough,_ and he finds himself walking her backwards over towards the floor-length windows that line the control room. 

Anna lets out a gasp that eases into a moan as her back presses firmly against the cool glass, and it’s easier now that he has her pinned beneath him like this. Her wet tongue dances against his own as she grips firmly into his hair, and he mentally thanks the fact that good weather has returned for the fact that she’s wearing a plain black dress that falls to the middle of her thighs. 

He smirks against her lips as he bends his knees and slides one of his legs in between both of her own, and she immediately rocks her hips against his thigh. His grip on her hips tightens as he aids in her movement, and he’s painfully hard as she writhes against him. 

Kristoff nips at her bottom lip before he parts from her lips once more, his chest heaving from the intensity of their passionate kisses as he rests his forehead against her own. His eyes squeeze tightly to a close as he focuses on the way in which she rocks against his thigh, on the sound of her own ragged breaths; and _shit,_ he _needs_ her. 

_Now_.

Anna giggles at the words that tumble from his mouth, and the sound of her breathless laughter has him grinning, too. He’s too distracted by the flush of her cheeks and the way in which she bites at her bottom lip to notice when her hands slide away from the back of his neck, and his dark eyes widen dramatically when those nimble fingers begin to tug at his belt buckle.

Kristoff whines as she slides her hand into his pants and cups him through his underwear, though one of his own hands begins to wander up her thigh and snakes beneath the hem of her dress. 

It’s far too difficult for him to actually touch her in any way that would be pleasurable considering the fact that she’s still pressing her core firmly against his muscular thigh, but _fuck,_ he can feel that her panties are wet as one of his fingers dances over them. He’s quickly distracted by the way in which her palm wraps around the base of his cock, though; and the sudden contact pulls a sharp hiss from him. 

He’s far too worked up to be able to entertain the thought of foreplay, far too overcome with panic and rage, adrenaline and relief; and, most of all, the overwhelming desire to bury himself inside of her. Anna well and truly pouts when he slides his thigh away from between her legs, and Kristoff backs away ever so slightly so that he’s not fully pinning her back to the glass anymore.

He wants to grin at the look on her face, but his lips won’t quirk, not when he’s this far gone.

“Turn around,” he murmurs, voice low and thick with lust to the point that he barely even recognises it.

Anna doesn’t hesitate to follow the instruction, and he watches as she instinctively positions herself against the panel. She continues to stand near enough at her full height as she presses her palms flat against the glass, and the way in which she angles her hips so that she’s fully presenting herself before him. 

His large hands wander beneath the skirt of her dress, and the contact pulls a soft sigh from her throat. Kristoff makes quick work of gathering the material before he pushes it up her body, and he’s seen her before, of course, but never like _this;_ and he swallows thickly at the sight of her fully exposed. 

Anna turns her head over her shoulder so that she can look at him through her bangs and long lashes, and another low groan tumbles from his throat as he squeezes at the flesh of her cheeks. Her eyelids flutter to a close and he watches as her mouth falls open as he slides her panties down her thighs, his movements quick and hurried in his eagerness to reach her. 

One calloused finger trails over her wet folds, and he’s more than satisfied to find that she’s ready to take him. 

“What if someone sees us?” she asks.

Her question catches him a little off guard, though Kristoff narrows his eyes at the smirk that rests on her lips. 

The glass is tinted, and he’s sure that she knows he would never really do something like this if he thought there was a risk of someone actually seeing her. 

Still. He plays along. 

“Then let them look,” he responds, and she grins. 

He groans as he pushes himself into her. 

Kristoff reminds himself to be patient, to give her a chance to adjust to him from this new, unfamiliar angle, this position that they’ve never tried before; and _fuck,_ he’s not even _moved_ yet and it’s already so good. _Too_ good.

He knows there’s not a chance he’ll be able to last long at all.

He’ll have to make it up to her later.

She feels impossibly tight around him, and just the sight of her bent at the waist like this is almost enough to push him over the edge. He soaks in the sight of her - of her pale skin, of her hands on the glass, of her hair tumbling down her back, and Anna drops her head so that she’s no longer looking over her shoulder at him as he buries himself to the hilt inside of her. 

Bar the heaving of his chest as he inhales and exhales, Kristoff stays completely still whilst he awaits a signal from her. Just a short few seconds later, she parts her thighs even more and sighs softly, and he knows she’s ready. 

He doesn’t hold back. _Can’t._

He grasps firmly at her cheeks as he fucks into her, near enough bouncing her against him as he quickly snaps his hips. His thrusts are hurried and clumsy, but _god,_ she’s too perfect; tight and hot and wet around his cock, and above all else, she’s _his._

The sound of skin slapping fills the control room, and her soft moans and hitched gasps serve as encouragement for him as he continues to fuck himself into her. His fingers dig into the swell of her ass, and _shit,_ he doesn’t want to bruise her skin, doesn’t want to mark her; but it’s so hard to remember to be gentle when his body still courses with rage and adrenaline, so easy to lose himself in how good it feels to be buried inside of her. 

Kristoff bends lower at the knees and winds his hands around her waist so that he can cling to her hips instead, and her name falls from his lips as his eyes squeeze tightly to a close. 

He wants to make this good for her too, he _does_ ; wants to feel her tightening around him, wants to hear her find her release as he fucks into her, but it’s all too much. 

A loud groan ripples through him as he feels himself edging closer and closer to release, and he wonders whether she’ll be able to chase her own before he can’t hold off anymore, wonders if -

His eyes open at the sound of her whining his name, and Kristoff’s hips falter at the sight of her looking over her shoulder at him once more. He doesn’t miss the way in which her palms slide a little further down the glass, and _fuck,_ she’s _beautiful -_ lips parted and jaw slack, eyelids fluttering closer to a close with each firm thrust of his hips - and his chest feels impossibly tight as he watches her bite down on her lip.

“Mine,” he pants, the word falling from his lips in a desperate gasp. “ _Fuck,_ Anna, you’re mine, I - _tell me._ ”

Kristoff uses his grip on her hips to angle her body higher, and Anna follows his lead with ease. She raises herself so that she’s standing on her tiptoes, and the change in angle causes them both to gasp. 

He can’t take it anymore, can hardly watch as she nods her head eagerly. He can barely focus on anything other than the way that she feels around him, but then -

“I’m yours,” Anna tells him through her stuttered breaths. 

Words that he’s said to her so many times before, words that he’s been desperate to hear in return. 

“Kristoff, I - I’m _yours._ ”

The declaration is the final push that he needs, and he well and truly whines as he spills himself inside of her. His dark eyes squeeze tightly to a close as he clings desperately to her hips, uses his grip on her to steady himself so that he doesn’t collapse against her as his thighs tremble violently; and he waits until she’s well and truly milked him for all that he’s worth before he steps away from her.

With heaving chests, they hurry to correct their appearances, though Kristoff doesn’t bother with his belt buckle. Instead, he steps towards her and pulls her swiftly into his arms, his heart rate racing as she presses the side of her face against it. 

“You okay?” he asks, his voice thick and low, and he ducks his head so that he can bury his face into the top of her hair as she nods her head. “I love you,” he tells her, needs her to know, “ _fuck,_ Anna, I love you so much.”

He’d do anything for her. He would.

“I love you, too,” she breathes. 

Anna doesn’t move to pull away from him, and so Kristoff remains completely still. He’s stoic and solid as he surrounds her, and they’ll stay here like this for as long as she needs them to.

There’s no place he’d rather be, anyway. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, that's our 12 weeks hehe. back to Norway we go!


	33. Chapter 33

She can’t get enough of him.

His face and the way that it softens when he looks at her, his tongue as it licks at skin, his lips and the way that they swell after he’s slotted them against her own. His broad shoulders and the way that the muscles there dwarf her hands, his thick biceps and forearms that lift and carry so easily, his huge hands and his - 

_Everything._

She wants it all. 

Anna thinks of how much they’re still learning. Not just about the other, but about themselves, too; and the pleasure she found from the way in which he took her in the control room comes as a surprise to them both. The memory of his heated gaze, of his fingers gripping tightly to her flesh; of his quick, stuttered thrusts sparks a flame within her that soon burns intensely, and she finds herself greedily stoking that fire. 

She wants to try, wants to test and to learn; and she tells him as much, grinning wickedly against his mouth as he willingly follows her lead. Anna thinks about the constant push and pull between them, and Kristoff is always ever so eager to please. 

“Tell me,” he murmurs into her ear, lips grazing the sensitive spot behind her lobe. “Whatever you want, I’ll do it. Just tell me.”

She does.

Anna can’t hide her excitement when he bends her over the side of his desk and fucks into her from behind, much like he had done in the control room. It’s easier for him to loom over her like this, though there comes a point when he stumbles slightly as his hips falter, and papers fall from the other side of the oak and scatter across the floor of their room. 

“ _Practice_ ,” she giggles against his lips when he maneuvers her onto her back, pulling her thighs flat against his abdomen. And sure enough, the next time that they utilise his desk, they make sure to move the paperwork first. 

Anna moans softly the first time that he wraps strands of her hair around his fist whilst he thrusts into her, and he smirks at her reflection in the mirror as her hands clench impossibly tighter against the edge of the countertop. 

She recalls a time - not all that long ago - when she would stand here and look in this same mirror as she practised her best _Captain_ scowl, and now -

“Look at you,” he pants as he leans forward, pressing his bare chest against her back. His lips brush against her earlobe as he keeps his eyes locked on her reflection, and Anna’s mouth falls open as he tugs slightly on her hair. “ _Fuck,_ baby, _look at you._ ”

Look at her, indeed.

.

.

.

He has always been so much softer in his sleep.

She sighs contentedly as her fingers comb gently through his fair hair, the thick strands feather-light following their shower the night before. They’re positioned on their sides and facing one another, though Kristoff is well and truly wrapped around her - his face tucked into the crook of her neck, one arm draped across her waist and his leg hitched up over her thighs. 

She finds comfort in his touch, feels a constant need to have him close, to have his skin pressed against hers and know that he’s there, that he’s _real._ There are still nights where she wakes from vivid nightmares involving the cabin and the gun and the pool of blood around his head, but holding him like this helps. 

It’s not just the fact that he’s all that she has - though that much is certainly true - as much as it is that he’s all she _wants._ He’s her husband, her _family,_ and the glistening orange diamond and plain gold band that sit proudly on her left hand serve as a reminder of that whenever panic begins to bubble within her chest.

There have been times when Anna has caught him doing the same thing. She’s stumbled across him fidgeting with his ring several times - seemingly lost in thought as he traces over the band - and it brings her some comfort to think that the weight of it might settle his worries, too.

She can’t lose him. She won’t _._

_Only you._

.

.

.

A breathless laugh tumbles from her lips as the ship approaches land, and Anna rushes over towards the end of the deck, tugging Kristoff along with her. He follows her lead with a small smile, and her eyes are wide as she leans as far over the side of the deck as she can manage, her feet dangling in the air as she does so.

One large hand comes to settle on her lower back, steadying her as the ship approaches the dock, the horn blaring loudly from above.

“Careful,” he murmurs, though she doesn’t respond; her wide eyes eagerly searching the approaching docks for familiar faces. 

“There they are!” she squeals excitedly as she falls back onto her heels, and she moves to grip tightly to her husband's forearm with one hand whilst she waves dramatically with the other. 

The oversized white blouse that she’s wearing falls further down her forearms with the motion, and Kristoff chuckles before he drapes one of his arms over her shoulders and pulls her closer to his side.

Anna leans into his embrace with ease and familiarity as she lowers her arm, though she doesn’t let it fall by her side - instead, she bends her elbow and places her hand over his. She briefly looks away from where Olaf is jumping and waving on the docks so that she can smile widely up at her husband, and her cheeks flush as he smiles softly down at her.

“It feels good to be home,” she murmurs as she bites down on her bottom lip, testing the word; and he regards her carefully before he hums in agreement.

“Yeah,” he nods, “it does.”

.

.

.

She wants to rush and greet Olaf and Bulda immediately, but Kristoff is still Captain of his ship, and so he has a few things to arrange before he can depart. He encourages her to go ahead without him, but she doesn’t want to, and so Anna distracts herself for a while by gathering up their pre-packed bags and making sure that they have everything they need before she makes her way out of their room. 

There had been no need for either of them to discuss the possibility of returning to Kristoff’s cabin. There wasn’t any way that she would have been able to stay there again: returning to it was one thing, but spending even one night there was something different entirely, and the thought of sleeping in the place where she had been so certain he’d been killed was enough to cause her to shudder.

But Kristoff hasn’t pressed her about it, hasn’t pushed her or so much as suggested staying there. Instead, he’s told her of the house that he’s asked his mother to enquire about on their behalf. _The white house,_ he’s called it; one that he’s always admired from a young age, and Anna grins each time that she listens to him describe the two-story structure that’s just a few minutes walk away from his mother’s home. 

As far as she’s concerned, they could call _home_ a tiny shack with a straw roof - she would never mind, so long as he was there with her. But the way that he describes this place to her has her heart skipping with excitement, and Anna smiles at the thought of all the possibilities that it will hold for them.

It might not be the cabin that he had built with his father, but it would be _theirs._

She meets him a short while later on the top deck. It’s near enough clear of his men, and Kristoff stands with his back to her, his hands on his hips as he nods along with whatever Mattias is telling him. 

Anna takes a moment to drink him in. She thinks of how handsome he looks today in his light blue shirt that’s rolled up to his forearms and his dark pants tucked into his boots, though she doesn’t have much chance to admire him, as just a beat or two later, he glances over his shoulder at her and frowns. 

Mattias smirks knowingly at her as she comes to stand before the two men, and Kristoff immediately reaches out to take the bags from her hands. Her eyes narrow slightly as he lifts them with ease. 

“I’m more than capable of carrying our bags,” she says to him, her light eyes lingering on the way in which his arms flex beneath his shirt as he shoulders the straps, and his frown softens ever so slightly at her words. 

“I never said that you weren’t,” he replies, and she can’t fight the smile that pulls at her lips.

“You’re sweet,” she grins, her tone softer now, and her stomach swoops as he offers her the lop-sided grin that she loves so much. 

“Only for you,” he murmurs, leaning forwards in order to press a chaste kiss to her lips. “Don’t tell anyone, though.”

She giggles softly at that, though Mattias interrupts before she can respond, and both of their cheeks flush pink at his words.

“Come on, Captain,” he grins, “you can carry on wooing your wife in Norway.” 

.

.

.

Anna can’t contain her excitement as she rushes across the docks, and she falls to her knees in order to catch the little boy in a tight hug. 

“Oh, Olaf,” she laughs as he wraps his slender arms around her neck, and she squeezes him tightly. He smells so _clean_ \- a mixture of washing powder and sweet shampoo - and she inhales deeply before she shakes her head, tears pricking in her eyes. “I missed you so, _so_ much,” she tells him, and with another squeeze, she pulls back slightly so that she can get a better look at him. 

It’s clear that he has been well cared for over the last twelve weeks - not that there was any doubt that Bulda wouldn’t dote on him - and Anna beams as she cups his small face in her hands. He’s chubbier, now; pale skin free of any bruises or marks, and his dark hair is combed tidily over to one side.

“I missed you, too!” he declares with a toothy grin, and he looks so _happy_ that it almost hurts.

Anna doesn’t miss the way in which his big, brown eyes dance over her shoulder to where Kristoff is approaching them, though; and she smiles knowingly at the young boy before she presses a quick kiss to his cheek.

“Go on,” she laughs, “I know that he’s missed you, too.”

Olaf doesn’t hesitate to pull himself away from her and rush over towards her husband, and Anna smiles over her shoulder as she moves to stand. Her chest tightens as Kristoff lowers himself down onto one knee, though the sound of her name being called distracts her.

Bulda is there in a flash. She pulls Anna into a tight embrace, and both women laugh lightly together. 

After a long moment, they part, though Bulda’s hands remain resting on Anna’s shoulders. Anna smiles fondly at her mother-in-law and opens her mouth to speak, though she doesn’t miss the curious expression on the older woman’s face as she narrows her eyes and tilts her head slightly; and no sound comes from her parted lips as Bulda’s hands lift to cup her jaw.

“There’s a change in you,” she says, her voice soft and quiet. Her dark eyes narrow further as they dance over her face, though after a long moment, they widen dramatically. “You - Anna,” she smiles, “you’re _glowing._ ”

The redhead giggles softly, her cheeks flushing pink at the compliment. “Thank you,” she says.

Bulda’s eyes narrow slightly once again, though the smile continues to dance across her lips. “You don’t know?” she presses, and Anna’s own smile falters ever so slightly.

“I - know what?” she asks, confusion evident in her tone, though the older woman shakes her head and drops her hands away from Anna’s face as Kristoff and Olaf make their way over towards them.

“We’ll talk about it after dinner,” she says, then turns to grin at Kristoff. “Baby! Come here, I’ve missed you!”

.

.

.

They walk hand-in-hand over the soft grass that leads up to the house, and though she grins brightly at the sight of it in the distance, she continues with their conversation.

“She told me that I’ve changed.”

“Well, your hair has grown a lot,” he responds, rolling his shoulders casually, and Anna shakes her head as she nudges her shoulder into his bicep. 

“I don’t think that’s what she meant,” she says, soft laughter dancing in her voice, “she said she would speak to me about it after dinner…”

She trails off as they rapidly approach the house, her eyes wide as she drinks it in.

It’s wonderful - much larger than she was expecting it to be, tall and wide with a wrap-around porch, bay windows and a grand front door. 

“Well,” Kristoff says, rubbing nervously at the back of his neck with his free hand, “what do you think?”

She’s overwhelmed, to say the least. His descriptions haven’t done it any justice, nor have her daydreams, and she can already picture it so well; the two of them here, happy and comfortable and content in between their trips out to sea, and a small, choked laugh falls from her lips as she grins up at him. 

“Kris,” she breathes, “I - it’s _perfect._ ” 

.

.

.

Dinner is wonderful, and by the time that Olaf requests Kristoff read him a story before bed, Anna is absolutely fit to burst. 

The blonde offers her an apologetic smile, though his mother is quick to encourage Olaf to show Kristoff to his bedroom, and the boy happily complies with Bulda’s suggestion. Anna watches with a smile as Olaf pulls Kristoff away from the dinner table by the hand, chattering on excitedly about how many books he has, and her chest tightens as they disappear up the stairs. 

Bulda waits until their voices quieten before she comes to sit in the now empty space besides Anna, and she leans forwards in her chair in order to intertwine their hands as she grins. 

“Anna, sweetheart,” Bulda smiles, “tell me how you’re feeling.”

The redhead has a feeling that his mother won’t take _fine_ for an answer, so she smiles softly as she shrugs her shoulders. 

“I feel great,” Anna admits, “I just - I feel so much better, now that we’re here. I never thought I’d like being at sea, and I - I _do,_ but there’s just something about this place that just…” A contented sigh escapes her, and her cheeks flush pink as Bulda continues to grin. “I don’t know, I mean… I really missed Olaf. And you, of course!” she quickly corrects. “And then there’s the house, and I just… I’m _really_ happy to be back here.”

“I’m glad you’re happy to be home,” Bulda says, squeezing her hands tightly. “But I - how do you _feel?_ ”

Anna’s chest tightens once more at the thought of _home,_ though her face softens in understanding at Bulda’s question. 

“I feel alright,” she nods, “a little tired, but -”

“Tired?” the older woman interrupts, her eyes practically twinkling, and Anna’s brows furrow ever so slightly. _Why is she looking at her like that?_

“I - yes, a little bit,” Anna continues. “Kristoff said that it was probably just the heat, since we were so near to the equator, and I’ve never really -”

“Oh, ignore him, honey,” Bulda says as she sits up a little straighter. The grin on her face spreads impossibly wider as she continues to regard her. “Anything else? You’ve not - no sickness, or anything like that?”

Anna shakes her head softly, her brows knotting together further. “No, I - well, I _was_ sick, but Kristoff said it was probably the storm, and -”

Bulda lets out a laugh, then; a loud, pleasant sound, though it cuts Anna off and stops her from expanding. The older woman moves to stand, and she wraps her arms around Anna’s shoulders and pulls her in for a tight hug, rocking them both gently. 

She would never usually think anything of the affection - would normally lean into it and embrace it - but she can’t help but get the feeling that Bulda knows something that she doesn’t. Anna smiles a little awkwardly when her hold finally relaxes, and the older woman steps backwards so that she can cup her face in her hands and look into her eyes. 

“Anna, sweetheart,” his mother grins, her dark eyes shining, “it wasn't the equator, or the storm. You’re _pregnant_.”


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter killed me slowly so im honestly just glad to see the back of it and finally move on to the next part hehehe 
> 
> thank u for all ur lovely comments im still meaning to get round to replying to them all but I do really appreciate them!!! 
> 
> and thank u for everyone who helped me with this chapter, especially to liv for the whole _"when"_ thing. hehehe

The room is dark - curtains drawn tightly - and there’s not so much as a slither of moonlight peeking through them. Anna’s head spins as she blinks up at the ceiling, focusing on nothing in particular. 

_Pregnant._

It doesn’t make any sense.

She had listened to Yelena’s instructions, had taken the broth that she had prepared for her and sipped away at it despite the unpleasant taste that it left behind. Twice, in fact. 

So Bulda’s wrong. She _must_ be. 

.

.

.

Anna trusts Yelena, and Yelena had been confident that the broth would serve her well. 

That should be more than enough to ease her worries. 

_(It isn’t.)_

.

.

.

She doesn’t sleep.

Anna’s embarrassed to admit even to herself that she probably wouldn’t have even thought about the need for contraception had it not been for Yelena’s insistence, yet it feels like a sick twist of fate that despite the intervention, she’s still in this predicament. 

She knows that somewhere along the line, she’s done something wrong - messed up, somehow. She’s lured Kristoff into a false sense of security, allowed him to believe that they were fine, that they were _safe;_ and she isn’t sure whether he’ll forgive her for that. 

There’s clearly either something wrong with her comprehension of how the broth works, or there’s something wrong with her body entirely. Regardless, she doesn’t think it matters which one is true - after all, she’s pretty certain that she’s ruined everything for them, either way.

_._

_._

_._

Tears pool in her eyes as she continues to glare up at the ceiling, though the room remains dark. Anna wonders what her husband will make of this - if _this_ is a real thing, at least. She can’t imagine that he’ll be thrilled, to say the least, but -

What _will_ he be?

She tries to imagine his reaction, but for what feels like the first time in forever, she isn’t in tune with his next move. They’ve never discussed this before, so there’s no mutual understanding between them; no shared desire or body language or wordless conversations spoken through glances and gazes to reassure her. 

He’s made his feelings clear about children being present on the ship. Olaf was with them for a matter of days, and whilst she knows that they both miss him, the loss of him to Norway has never seemed to have had an influence on Kristoff’s opinion. He’s happy with the decision that was made, knows that it was the best thing for everyone - not just Olaf and Bulda or Kristoff and Anna, but for the ship and its crew, too. 

So. She doesn’t want to think too much about how he’ll react when he knows.

He’s been angry with her before. 

_It’s not a request._

Would he be angry with her now?

.

.

.

Anna recalls how he told her that he could be both. 

Anna’s husband and The Captain. The Captain and Anna’s husband. 

Deep down, she knows what the Captain will say about all of this. Knows that the reaction will be cold, and blunt, and practical. 

But _Kristoff_ -

Well. She has no idea what he will say, and that terrifies her most of all. 

.

.

.

The sun finally kisses the sky, and Anna’s droopy lids flutter to a close every so often, though she still finds herself jerking awake despite the lack of sleep from over-thinking. 

She had shuffled away from Kristoff during the night, but his body had chased hers even in sleep. He’s positioned close to her once more, as he so often is - curled around her with his face pressing gently against the side of her own, and Anna focuses on the sensation of his warm breath dancing across her cheek each time that he exhales.

She clings desperately to the hope that the soft noises that he makes in his sleep might lull her into slumber, too’ but they don’t, and she remains restless as the memory of Bulda’s words torments her. 

_It wasn’t the equator, or the storm._

How can she have been so naive, so blind, so _stupid_? How can it be possible that their child is growing inside of her - and has been doing for goodness knows how long - whilst she’s been continuing with her life as normal, blissfully unaware of the magic that she’s making?

Even Kristoff had noticed, had gently probed her about the slight changes that he had seen, but she had dismissed him and then happily accepted - if not eagerly encouraged - his explanations, however ridiculous they may seem now.

It had been far too easy to shrug off her symptoms, yet Bulda had noticed immediately, and Anna can’t quite believe that she’s _this_ out of touch with her own body. 

One of Kristoff’s arms is draped loosely across her abdomen, and she swallows thickly as her fingers slowly begin to creep underneath his forearm. She holds her palm flat against her stomach, squeezes her eyes tightly to a close and imagines. 

Anna rolls her lips together in an attempt to hold back the strangled sob that threatens to escape them, but it’s not quite enough; and Kristoff hums softly as he moves lazily against her, his large palm squeezing the side of her waist lightly as he nuzzles impossibly closer to her.

He doesn’t know of the changes that are happening within her right this moment. Will he still hold her like this when he does? 

“Wha’ time s’it?” he murmurs against her skin, voice thick with sleep, and she smiles sadly as she blinks up at the dark ceiling.

Anna loves him so much, and she’ll do anything to keep him.

So she can’t tell him yet. 

“Early,” she whispers, and she tilts her chin ever so slightly to the side so that she can press a quick kiss to his nose. “ _Too_ early. Go back to sleep.”

He does.

.

.

.

Bulda frowns as Anna takes the small box from her hands.

“What do you mean, you haven’t told him?” she asks. “Has that boy said something to make you feel -” 

“No!” Anna hurries, her voice louder than she intended it to be, and she sighs softly as her eyes dart around the kitchen. 

Kristoff isn’t here. He’s talking over his plans for the next few days with Mattias, and it would be impossible for him to hear her from wherever it is that he is.

Still. She’s nervous. On edge. 

_Tense_.

She needs to get this over with, needs to know for certain so that she doesn’t torture herself any longer about it.

“Honestly, I - he hasn’t said anything. I just… I don’t know how he’s going to feel about it. That’s all.”

His mother relaxes at that, and she places her hands on Anna’s shoulders as she smiles softly at her. 

“Sweetheart, you don’t need to worry about that,” she says. “I’m telling you now, if he feels anything other than ecstatic, then he’s even more ridiculous than I thought _._ You are his _wife,_ and you are carrying _his_ child,” she says, her dark eyes glancing down to the small box in Anna’s hands and then back to her face. “Now all that you need to do is believe it for yourself.”

.

.

.

Two pink lines.

“That’s - that’s a positive, right?” Anna asks.

“It is,” Bulda agrees.

Anna knows that she must look horrified. 

“Come here, baby,” the older woman says as she pulls her into a tight embrace. 

Tears begin to pool in her eyes as she attempts to focus on steadying her breathing. She’s shocked, more than anything else; stunned into silence, and her eyes are wide as she stares blankly over Bulda’s shoulder. 

She’s been so nice to her - so warm and kind and caring, welcoming and loving, and Anna’s so grateful for her presence in her life. But for the first time, Bulda’s fussing reminds her of what she’s lost, and Anna grimaces as she thinks about her own mother. 

It doesn’t matter what her mother would think or say. She’s not here. 

There’s one person in her life whose opinion matters most, and she’s so scared of what this will mean for them, what this will change.

“I just - I don’t want to lose him,” she whispers. “I don’t want him to hate me.”

“He would _never,_ ” Bulda says as she squeezes her impossibly tighter. “He loves you, Anna. _Adores_ you, even. And trust me - I know my baby boy. He’s going to be _so_ happy.”

.

.

.

The sight of his smile causes her to feel dizzy and nauseous all at once.

_He’s going to be so happy._

He already _is._

“Hey,” he says as she comes to pause on the third step from the bottom, their eyes near enough level as a result. 

Kristoff’s hands move to rest on either side of his hips, and her head spins a little even as she instinctively wraps her arms around his neck. His thumbs stroke at her lazily over the material of her knee-length blue dress, the pads of them brushing against her lower abdomen, and Anna swallows thickly.

She wonders whether he’ll touch her like this again, whether he’ll stroke over her stomach with purpose and intent rather than absent-minded fondness once he knows what’s developing within. She wonders if he’ll be pleased, if he’ll be _proud,_ and her breath hitches ever so slightly as his palms squeeze at her sides. 

“I’ve got to head back to the ship and pick up some contracts for the new recruits,” he explains, “wanna come with me?”

She doesn’t hesitate. “Of course,” she agrees, her lips curving into a small smile despite the overwhelming panic that still lingers within her. 

She’ll follow him anywhere. He knows that.

.

.

.

It feels strange to be back in their room, now that she knows and he doesn’t. 

Anna stares at their bed and feels nauseous. Glances over at his desk and feels lightheaded.

Kristoff’s busy enough with his paperwork that he doesn’t seem to notice when she hurries into the bathroom, and she can hear him murmuring to himself under his breath even through the wooden door once she pushes it to a close. 

Despite herself, she smiles at the sound. Anna is constantly surprised by her fondness for him, and she allows herself a moment to indulge in the sensation whilst it’s still here.

She feels a little unsteady on her feet as she wonders once again when it happened. Bulda has spoken to her briefly about the facilities that they have nearby, about the hospital that remains open for those who can afford it; and she knows that once she’s told him, they’ll have to make the arrangements to visit it one way or another. 

They need at least a rough estimation of a due date, after all. 

Anna braces herself over the sink, her knuckles turning white against the countertop. She realises then that she’s trembling, and she slowly lifts her eyes in order to glare at her reflection. 

She can picture him so vividly, now that she’s here. Can practically feel his large hands palming at her breasts, his hot breath dancing over her ear and her neck as he grins wickedly at their reflection, the smug look on his face driving her wild, and - 

_Fuck, baby, look at you._

She swallows thickly. 

Kristoff doesn’t suspect anything, but she knows that she’s hiding this from him and she knows that it’s wrong. 

Anna loves him so much, and she’ll do anything to keep him.

But she has to tell him, now.

.

.

.

He looks up at her as she steps out of the bathroom and frowns immediately. 

“What’s the matter?” 

It doesn’t catch her off guard that he knows just by the look on her face that something is wrong, and she hurries towards his open arms and falls easily into his lap. Anna buries her face into the crook of his neck and inhales a shaky breath, wonders if it will be easier to tell him if she doesn’t look at him. 

The armrest of his chair presses uncomfortably against the side of her knee from the way in which she’s positioned in his lap, but Anna doesn’t care. 

He’s comforted her before, of course; but those times were _different,_ and she can sense the uncertainty in his movements as he buries one of his hands into the back of her head - thick fingers bunching into her hair - whilst the other snakes around her waist. She relaxes into his hold and blinks slowly, her lashes brushing against his neck.

“I just - I love you,” she tells him, her voice quiet but steady. “ _So_ much. But I -”

“Anna,” he interrupts, and she can hear the frown in his voice. “Baby, you’re scaring me.”

_Baby._

Oh, _no._

She doesn’t necessarily _sob,_ but a choked sound escapes her at the sound, and she breathes him in once more before she pulls back and cups his face in her hands. 

“I’m - Kristoff, I just. _God,_ I don’t know how to tell you, I -”

She stutters over her words and watches as worry washes over his features. His face quickly drains of colour, and he’s paler than she’s ever seen him; dark eyes wide and parted lips downturned, and she instinctively wants to comfort him, wants to backtrack, but she can’t. 

He needs to know.

Anna inhales a long, deep breath before she looks him in the eyes.

Her hands on his face tremble, but her words are firm, and clear, and strong. 

“I’m pregnant.”

He’s silent for an impossibly long moment, and then -

“I - wait, _what_?” he asks, eyes wide, and she swallows thickly.

“I’m pregnant,” she repeats. “Your mother - she said it… well, she told me that she thought so last night, but I didn’t believe her,” she begins. “Because - you know - the _broth._ There were symptoms, I guess; and they seem so _obvious_ now, but I just - remember, me being tired, and then when I was sick? But - well, anyway, your mother knew straight away, but she only told me after dinner last night. And I wanted to tell you then, I _did,_ but I was - I just - I didn’t want to worry you, not if it wasn’t true. But then she managed to get her hands on a test this morning and I - she’s right, I _am,_ and I just -”

He blinks. Remains silent. 

She exhales deeply and looks right back at him. 

“ _God,_ Kristoff,” she whispers, “I’m so sorry. Please just - just say _something_.” 

Her hands continue to tremble, and her fingertips fan out over his face and his chin as a result. They dance over the side of his neck, too; and she can feel his pulse rabbiting beneath them.

Kristoff opens and closes his mouth several times, though no noise comes; and she watches - and feels - him swallow as he stares at her. Her heart beats so harshly that she can hear it, and her breath hitches when he finally breathes out her name. 

“Anna, I’m - you - _when_?” 

She tenses at the question.

“When?” she repeats, testing the word out curiously. 

She quickly glances over her shoulder at their bed, then at his desk, and towards the bathroom; thinks of how he was a more-than-willing participant in all of their... _unions,_ so what on earth does he mean by ‘ _when_?’

Anna turns back to face him, her brows furrowing; and she watches as his lips quirk ever so slightly, feels the way in which his cheeks lift beneath her hands. She doesn’t miss the flush of his skin or the softening of his eyes, and her own lips part as she blinks at him. 

“When - I - _shit,_ you know what I mean,” he says to her, a huff of a laugh escaping him as he shakes his head slightly. “When are we - when will _you_ -”

Anna’s tense shoulders slowly relax as she realises what it is that he means, what he’s asking her; and she’s so taken aback by the question that a breathless noise escapes her throat as she looks at him with wide eyes. 

She hadn’t known what to expect from him. 

She certainly hadn’t expected _this_.

“I -” she falters, lips parted; “I have no idea, I just - I’m - that’s all I know. That I’m pregnant, that we - we’re going to -”

The words don’t come out as smoothly as she would like them to, but he laughs again - a soft, gentle sound that rumbles through his chest, and Anna’s eyes widen impossibly. She hesitates for a moment - disbelief evident on her face - before her own lips quirk slightly, too; unable to resist the immense pull to return his pleased expression despite the tension that’s been building within her up until this point.

Anna’s hands drop from his jaw and come to rest on his shoulders when he leans forward so that he can press his forehead against her own, and she watches as his dark eyes flutter to a close. 

He’s quiet for a moment, and Anna worries her bottom lip. 

“Are - Kristoff, are you okay?” she asks, and she feels him nod before he moves to press a feather-light kiss to her lips.

She had been so nervous, so worried of what he might think and say; and the lack of heated words, tense shoulders and clenched fists takes her by surprise. She didn’t necessarily expect rage so much as she expected frustration and resistance.

Bulda’s words ring through her mind, then. 

_I know my baby boy. He’s going to be so happy._

Anna hadn’t dared to believe her, hadn’t allowed herself to have even a slither of hope that he wouldn’t be disappointed, or upset; and relief floods through her as she chases his lips with her own, slots their mouths together and kisses him eagerly. 

Kristoff groans happily as she brushes her tongue against his own, and her hands fist tightly into the collar of his shirt as she shuffles herself impossibly closer to him. He grunts in surprise at that, though his hands grasp tightly at her, and she giggles in delight when his teeth graze over her bottom lip.

Much to Anna’s dismay, he pulls away. She wants to kiss him again, wants to indulge herself in her husband for the rest of the night; but she allows him a moment to look over her, the back of his head tilting against the leather as he drinks her in. Anna’s cheeks flushing pink at the soft expression on his face, but she doesn’t look away. 

It takes her back to the way he looked at her when she walked herself up the aisle towards him.

“Well,” he murmurs, voice thick, “I thought we’d at least wait a year.”

He’s teasing her now, and she giggles softly, her heart soaring at the sight of his own lopsided grin. Anna raises one of her hands to his face again so that she can brush some of his hair away from his eyes, and the smile on her face falters as she does so.

“I’m sorry, Kris,” she murmurs, shaking her head slightly. “I don’t know how this happened. How we -”

“Hey,” he says, cutting her off with a frown. “You - don’t apologise,” he murmurs, running his own hand through the back of her hair. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.”

Her entire body sags in relief when he leans in and kisses her again. 

This time, he doesn’t pull away, and Anna squeals in delight against his lips when he lifts her easily into his arms and carries her over towards their bed.

.

.

.

It’s much later, when she confesses. 

“I was worried you’d be upset,” she whispers apologetically as she snuggles closer to him, one of her legs hitching over both of his thighs as she buries her face into the crook of his neck. “Or - I don’t know, _mad,_ maybe. That you’d… that this would change things.”

Kristoff’s fingers stop absent-mindedly brushing through her hair, and Anna knows immediately that she’s said the wrong thing, that she’s said too much. Panic bubbles within her as she feels him tense beneath her, but it’s too late, and -

“Is that what you think of me?” he asks her, his voice quiet.

The question and the way in which he asks it causes Anna to grimace before she hurries to push herself up on one of her elbows, her hair fanning around them both as she hovers over him. 

Kristoff blinks up at her, and the pained look in his dark eyes causes her chest to tighten. 

_I’m not a monster, Anna._

It seems like a lifetime ago since he first said those words to her, and despite everything that has happened between them since, she knows that it all still haunts him. The gunshots and the blood, the brutality and the cutthroat lifestyle; Hans and Sara and Elsa and Tony -

_I’ll kill him._

He’ll do anything for her. He’s proven that so many times before.

“No,” Anna responds, her voice louder and firmer than she intended it to be. “I don’t - I just - _no._ I love you, Kris, I - _so much._ And I just didn’t… I didn’t want this to push you away.”

His brows furrow ever so slightly as he raises his hand to her face, tucking some of her hair behind her ear as he moves. 

“Anna,” he says, “we’re having a _baby._ Why would you think that that would push me away?” 

She feels sheepish, even as she hovers over him; and Anna shrugs slightly as she bites down on her bottom lip. 

“I just. It’s all happened so fast, right?” she asks, and he nods once in agreement. “And I remember what you said, about Olaf,” she continues. “And about children being on the ship. And I guess I got into my head a little about it all.”

His fingers softly dance over the line of her jaw, and Kristoff hums softly under his breath before his eyes droop to a close.

“But it’s all okay now,” she breathes. “Right?”

“Well,” he begins, then sighs as he opens his eyes and looks up at her once more. “I think… I think that maybe it’s best if you stay here.”

Anna doesn’t know what it is about the words - perhaps it’s his tone, or the regretful expression on his face - but she immediately knows what it is that he’s trying to say to her, what he’s asking; and she can’t do it - she _won’t._

Still. She tries not to get too ahead of herself, even as her body tenses; and she gives him the benefit of the doubt, allowing him the chance to backtrack on the ridiculous idea that she just _knows_ is hovering on the tip of his tongue. 

“What do you mean?” she asks, her fingers slowly dancing over his bare chest. She’s having to channel an awful lot of self-control in order to keep her voice steady and calm. “As in here? On the ship?”

Another heavy sigh falls from his mouth, and he shuffles against the pillows before he continues. “No,” he tells her, “I mean - _here._ In Norway.”

Her heart pounds so harshly in her chest that she swears she can hear it in her ears, but Anna will give him one more chance to back out of this. 

“You want us to stay here?” she pushes, her voice small and quiet.

She doesn’t hesitate to withdraw her hand from his chest as he slowly shakes his head at her. 

“No,” he frowns, and she’s already pulling away from him, scurrying to sit herself upright in the bed.. “I’m - you need to stay here, where there’s hospitals, and professionals who can look after you; but I - _shit,_ I can’t just leave the ship without a Captain.”

Her face flushes with heat as she narrows her eyes at him, her jaw set firmly as she presses her lips tightly together. 

“What,” she scoffs, “but you can leave me here alone, without my husband?” 

The crease between his brows disappears as his expression softens immediately at her harsh words. 

“Anna, that’s not -”

“How is that not what you meant?” she interrupts. “You can’t - _Kristoff,_ you can’t seriously think you can just leave me here.”

He moves to sit himself upright, too; his back leaning against the headboard of the bed, and Anna makes a point of scooting backwards a little in order to ensure that there is a reasonable distance between the two of them. Kristoff notices, of course; though he reaches out towards her anyway. 

His hand covers her much smaller one, and whilst she’s tempted to pull away from him, she doesn’t.

“Anna, _baby,_ just - just _listen_ to me. It’s not safe for you to be out here. Look at everything you’ve already seen -”

“And look at everything that you’ve taught me along the way, too!” she hisses, cutting him off. “I can take care of myself now, Kris, I - I’m not the person that I was when you first brought me here.”

“You think I don’t know that?” he responds, equally frustrated. “I - yeah, you’ve been doing well in training, but that’s not _enough_ . You’re - _fuck,_ you’re already a target just by being my _wife,_ if you think for one minute that you can stay on the ship -”

“If _you_ think for one minute that I’m staying here - _alone -_ then you’re dead wrong,” she interrupts once more, and she doesn’t miss the way in which his jaw hardens at her words.

He’s an _idiot,_ and her chest heaves up and down dramatically as she glares over at him. He’s an overwhelmingly frustrating idiot - 

But he’s _hers_. 

He’s hers, and he’s worried and he’s scared, just like she had been last night; and Anna knows her husband well enough by now to know that arguing about this won’t get her anywhere fast. In fact, it will likely just make everything a hell of a lot worse - will just rile him up and push his buttons - and that’s not what she wants right now.

He doesn’t fully mean it yet, she doesn’t think. She knows that he could, though; and the thought terrifies her. 

He can’t leave her behind. He _can’t._

So, Anna silently counts to ten before she speaks again, her voice softer this time. 

“Kristoff,” she pleads, and her heart skips as his eyes lift and lock onto her own. “I know that you’re scared. I _do._ But - but you’re my husband, and I’m safe with _you,_ ” she continues, and his fingers twitch around her hand. 

_That’s a good sign_ , she thinks; and so she carries on, keeps her voice steady and soft as she looks right at him. 

“I can’t just stay here. Not if you’re not with me,” she says. “All I’d do is worry about you, and miss you so much, and - and I don't really know anything about these kinds of things,” she continues, her free hand instinctively moving towards her abdomen, “but I don’t think that me being alone and worried and stressed can be particularly… _good._ ” 

It makes sense to her, at least; and after a long moment of carefully regarding her, his tense shoulders relax, too.

“ _Fucking -_ ” he mutters under his breath, and then lifts their joined hands and tugs on them lightly. “Come here.”

She doesn’t hesitate to scurry over towards him on her knees, and Anna squeezes her eyes tightly to a close as he pulls her into his lap. Her arms wrap around the back of his neck as Kristoff holds her flush against him, and she inhales a long, deep breath before she speaks again.

“I need you,” she tells him. “ _God,_ Kristoff - I’m so scared, too, but I’m not going to be able to do this without you.”

She can’t imagine it, can’t picture it clearly in her head. Anna can’t see herself lonely and miserable and overwhelmingly _sad_ whilst she waits for his return, can’t imagine sitting out by the docks or staring out at the sea from the hills in the hopes of catching a glimpse of his ship. 

Not even with Bulda and Olaf, not even in the beautiful white house that he’s bought for them. 

She doesn’t want to live in a world where it’s not the two of them together. 

Kristoff sighs heavily against her bare skin, his stubble tickling against her shoulder as he shakes his head slightly. He waits for another few beats of silence before he turns his chin slightly and presses a kiss to her cheek, his strong arms tightening impossibly around her lower back. 

“I love you,” he tells her, “and you won’t have to.” 

Anna’s bottom lip wobbles dramatically at his words, and she pulls herself backwards so that she can look at him. He raises one of his hands to her face, and his calloused thumb strokes away the damp tears that have silently trickled down her cheeks.

“ _Shit,_ Anna, I - don’t cry, baby,” he says, though his words only seem to make it _worse,_ somehow; and a choked laugh flies out as she smiles in spite of the tears that she doesn’t seem to be able to control. “I’m just - _fuck,_ I can’t - you know I can’t leave you. Not before, and especially not now, I just… I need to figure it out, okay? I need to think.” 

She doesn’t trust herself to be able to speak, and so Anna nods her head as she smiles weakly at him. Kristoff raises his other hand to her face so that he can wipe both of her tear-stained cheeks, and she sighs softly as she leans further into his touch, her eyes fluttering to a close.

Anna loves him so much, and she’ll do anything to keep him.

But she certainly won’t be staying in Norway alone. 


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just in case there's any confusion, in terms of due dates, unless you know the exact date of conception (which Anna and Kristoff don't), then your due date is calculated from the first day of your last period. so even though _we_ know that conception was around 12 weeks ago, Anna is 'technically' 14+ weeks pregnant because that's just how these things are calculated (at least where I'm from, anyway, and I think most Western countries are the same). 
> 
> anyway - that gives us a due date of around January 2nd :) hehe

His thumb dances back and forth across the black and white image that he’s holding so carefully in his hands, gently dancing over the glossy sheet, and Kristoff sighs as he shuffles back against the headboard of the bed in an attempt to get into a more comfortable position.

“Kristoff?”

He tears his gaze away from the picture so that he can look down at where Anna is lying with her head in his lap. Her auburn hair fans out across his thighs and the bed sheets, and he drops one of his hands down to bury into the soft strands, his blunt fingernails dragging lightly over her scalp in a way that causes her to hum. 

He shushes her as his fingers dance through her hair, the corners of his lips twitching into a soft smile as her light eyes flutter to a close once more. 

“Go back to sleep, baby,” he murmurs, voice soft and low in the quiet guest room.

She does.

Kristoff watches the soft rise and fall of her chest and listens to the sound of her snores before his hand eventually stills in her hair. He sighs softly as he returns his attention back to the picture in his other hand, eyes narrowing slightly as he examines it. 

Fourteen weeks and three days.

It’s been a busy day for them, to say the least, and even after everything - the unfamiliar hospital, the midwife who took all of their details and provided them with a thick stack of notes and leaflets and books, the sonographer who applied cool jelly to Anna’s abdomen and offered them the evidence of the life that they had made together - Kristoff still can’t quite believe that this is real. 

He’s a husband, and in five and a half months time, he’ll be a father, too. 

There’s so much to be done before then, so many decisions to be made and plans to be put into place, and Kristoff doesn’t have the slightest clue where to begin with it all. 

The first thing that had come to his mind was _Norway_ , but Anna had been right, of course - there was no way in hell he would have ever actually been able to follow through with that, not a chance that he would have ever been able to leave her anywhere without him. But still, it doesn’t change the fact that he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to _do,_ doesn’t alter the fact that he has no clue as to what the best solution to any of this is, and he just wants to keep her safe. 

_You’re my husband, and I’m safe with you._

So, Norway is well and truly out of the question unless he stays here, too; but there’s still so much to be done on the ship, so much work left to iron out with the crew, so many shipments to be made and ports to be managed, and Kristoff isn’t sure that he’s ready to let it all go right this minute.

It doesn’t change the fact that there’s no fucking way that any child of his is being raised on this ship the same way that he was. Lonely and isolated, surrounded by grown men and endless water, no friends or companions, no structure or innocence, no space to run and play - 

No. He won’t do it.

This was his father’s ship, and it was his grandfather’s ship before him (albeit a lot has been upgraded since then, but the point still stands); and Kristoff wants to pass the ship over to one of his own children someday, he _does,_ but only if they want it, only if they’re certain that this is the life they want over anything else. He doesn’t want to prepare and groom them for this lifestyle the same way that his father had done to him, doesn’t want to force them down a path that’s full of violence and danger and uncertainty, amongst other things; and Kristoff knows that the only way he’ll ever be able to really do that is to stay away, to steer clear of the ship and settle down on land. 

It’s hard for him to imagine a life where he’s not at sea. The tight borders of the ship and the vast ocean has suffocated him for most of his life, and yet it’s still _home_ ; and the thought of spending the rest of his life without breathing in salty air or feeling the rock of the waves beneath him is odd, to say the least.

He bought her the house, though; the white house that he remembered admiring even as a young boy, and whilst he had originally intended for it to be somewhere that they could call their own when they returned to Norway for short, brief visits, he supposes that he can see them living there sooner, that he can imagine it serving them well as a growing family.

Kristoff thinks that he could be happy, living like that. 

When he closes his eyes, he can almost picture it: him out working on the land - god knows that there’s more than enough surrounding it, perhaps they could grow their own vegetables, acquire some animals too - and Anna sitting out on the porch with a bundle in her arms. 

He thinks of small children running through the fields towards him only to run away as he chases them, thinks of loud, carefree laughter. He thinks of noise and how joyful it’ll be, thinks of imaginative games and open space and fresh air and -

Everything that he longed for as a boy.

And what if they did it, and did it well? What if he did leave it all behind - the blood and the gore and the fear and the violence - and wiped the slate clean? What if they were happy, what if they were _free,_ what if he never had to set foot on a ship ever again?

Kristoff wonders, then; of his father, and what he would make of his son abandoning the ship for a life on land. Would he be disappointed? Angry? Hurt?

The blonde sighs heavily as he tries to snap himself out of it. He raises his hand from where it’s been wrapped in Anna’s hair so that he can trace over the outline of the image once more. 

It had been so strange, seeing the image on the blaring screen in the scanning room, and Kristoff had struggled to breathe, let alone make out anything that he was looking at; but it’s easier, now - doesn’t look like it’s just a white blob on a dark sheet anymore - and his heart soars with pride as he recognises some of the more identifiable body parts. 

There are a lot of choices to be made, and not an awful lot of time for him to make them in; but Kristoff knows where his priorities lie, knows who comes first, and it doesn’t matter what the ghosts of his past may or may not have said about it all. 

This is his life. His wife. His child.

There’s no alternative option for him - he _has_ to get this right.

.

.

.

After spending most of her day with Anna whilst Kristoff and Mattias had worked their way through the contracts that the new crew members had signed, his mother asks him to accompany her on a walk after dinner, and he’s hardly going to say no to her.

He knows she wants to talk to him about all of this. She’s spent so much of the last few days fussing over Anna, and he knew that it would be his turn sooner or later. 

She asks him to sit with her upon one of the large rocks by the shore, and Kristoff leans back on his hands and stares out at the sea whilst he waits for her to say something. 

“How are you feeling, baby?” she asks him, and he sighs heavily.

“I don’t know, ma,” he sighs. “I’m - it’s just…”

“Overwhelming?” she suggests, and Kristoff turns his face slightly towards her.

“I guess,” he nods. 

They’re both quiet for a moment, and Kristoff returns his gaze to sea. It’s been a beautiful day, and though the sun is setting low in the sky, it still reflects brightly from the surface of the water in a way that has him squinting ever so slightly.

“Your father would have been so proud of you, you know,” she tells him. 

He doesn’t want to have this conversation, not when they both know that what she’s said isn’t entirely true. Kristoff has no doubt that his father would have loved Anna, or that he would have loved the idea of having grandchildren, either; but the two men are so unlike in so many ways. 

For a start, Cliff would have never given up the ship or the crew or life at sea for anything, or anyone. It had almost cost him his wife and his son on countless occasions, and in the end, it cost him his life; but somehow, Kristoff just knows that his father wouldn’t have had it any other way, knows that he wouldn’t have changed a single thing.

He, on the other hand, doesn’t want anything of the sort. 

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now, ma,” he admits as he leans further back against the rock, his calloused palms brushing against the rough surface beneath them. “I’m - it’s not safe for her out there, and I - and then the _baby,_ I…” he trails off, shaking his head and squeezing his eyes to a close before he continues. “I know it’s selfish, but I can’t leave her - _them_ \- behind. I _can’t._ ”

“Oh, Kristoff,” she sighs, a wide, close-lipped smile lighting up her face as she looks over at him. “You’re not selfish, baby - you’re in _love._ There’s a difference.”

He chances another glance in her direction before he huffs out a quick breath and returns his gaze to the sea. He’s quiet for a short while as he mulls over his thoughts, and he finds himself trembling slightly as he clenches his jaw tightly. 

“I’m scared, ma,” he admits, his voice so quiet that he wonders if she can even hear him at all. “I’m so fucking scared, I -”

His voice breaks as he searches for the words to explain, and Kristoff lifts his eyes to the sky and blinks rapidly as he attempts to steady his breathing along with his thoughts. It’s all too much, saying any of this out loud; and _fuck,_ he has no clue what to do, has no idea what’s best for Anna and the baby and himself and -

“Come here,” his mother says, and she’s wrapping her arms around him before he can say anything else. 

Kristoff’s hardly a stranger to his mother’s hugs, but they’re sat out by the shore where anyone could walk past at any point, and he’s hardly convinced that someone catching sight of the Captain crying in his mother’s arms will serve his reputation well. Still, he finds himself relaxing into her comforting embrace, and he squeezes his eyes tightly to a close as he tries to forget about the crew and the ship. 

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

Kristoff feels her sigh as she rests her cheek against the top of his head, and her hand rubs softly up and down his back over his shirt.

“Welcome to parenthood, baby,” she says, a tinkle of laughter in her voice, “we’re all winging it here.”

.

.

.

Yelena smirks over at them from where she stands next to Mattias. 

“Well,” she says, cocking an eyebrow at him, “I hear that congratulations are in order.” 

Kristoff isn’t sure what to make of her tone - she’s always been hard-faced and difficult to read - and he instinctively wants to tell her to fuck off on the off chance that she’s being an asshole.

Thankfully, after spending so much time around the older woman, Anna seems to be able to read her much better than Kristoff can, and his wife grins brightly as she steps confidently towards her. 

He notes the way in which her cheeks flush as she rummages blindly through her brown satchel. 

“Do you want to see?” she asks as she fishes out one of the many pictures that the sonographer printed for them.

Yelena - and Mattias - confirm that they do, and Kristoff’s chest swells with pride as they pass the image between them. Yelena is holding onto one of Anna’s hands, and the redhead turns to look at him over her shoulder whilst the two of them examine the photo with wide smiles. 

Her beauty still takes his breath away, and he can’t quite believe that this is real, that she’s _his_.

He smiles at her - a warm, fond smile that she easily returns, and she flutters her lashes at him before she returns her attention to Yelena and answers whatever question it is that the older woman asked.

.

.

.

Their stay in Norway was always supposed to be short and sweet, and Kristoff squeezes his mother tightly around the shoulders as they say their goodbyes on the docks. 

She blinks up at him with teary eyes as she pulls away, though her hands quickly move to cup his face. Kristoff smiles down at her - he’ll miss her, of course; and Olaf, too - and she inhales a shaky breath even as she grins widely up at him. 

“We’re so proud of you, baby,” she tells him, her voice breaking slightly, “and we love you _so much._ ”

_We._

He doesn’t fight the urge to wrap her in another tight hug, and she laughs loudly as he lifts her briefly into the air. 

“I love you too, ma,” he grins, “and I’ll see you soon.”

.

.

.

Kristoff’s back presses firmly against the headboard of their bed, but he’s more comfortable than he has been in days. It’s not as though there’s anything particularly wrong with his ma’s guest room, but it’s not quite the same as being back in _their_ room, and he sighs happily as he places a kiss to his wife’s jaw.

Anna is settled in between his open legs, her back flush against his chest, and both of his arms are wrapped loosely around her front. She’s absent-mindedly playing with his fingers whilst they talk, and the soft silk of her nightgown rubs gently against his bare skin as she moves. 

He couldn’t be any closer to her if he tried.

The book that they had been reading through lies face-down on the mattress, and Anna nuzzles herself further against his back as she traces her fingers over his ring.

“Do you want to find out what we’re having?” she asks him, and Kristoff shrugs as he rests his chin on top of her head. 

He watches intently as she fidgets with the gold band before she slides her own hand on top of his, the backs of her rings brushing against his own. 

“It’s not really up to me,” he responds as she squeezes the back of his palm. 

He genuinely doesn’t have the slightest clue as to what he’s doing here, and although Anna’s seemed mostly fine in terms of symptoms, the book that they had been reading talked an awful lot about _hormones,_ and the last thing he wants to do is say the wrong thing and piss her off.

He doesn’t want to make her feel as though she has to make a decision that makes him happy, either; although he’s a little less worried about that. Anna’s headstrong and stubborn, and he doesn’t often fret about her not telling him how she really feels. 

“Yeah, but do you _want_ to find out?” she pushes, nudging his hand so that he turns it over, and he shudders slightly as her fingernails tickle over his palm. 

She’s not going to let this slide, he can tell, so he figures that he may as well just be honest.

“I guess,” he tells her, “but I don’t mind -”

“No,” she interrupts, smiling brightly as she tilts her chin. Kristoff moves his head back slightly so that she doesn’t headbutt him, and his expression softens as he recognises the excitement dancing in her eyes. “I want to know, too.”

 _Christ,_ she’s so fucking _happy,_ and he still can’t believe that they’ve done this, that they’re _doing_ this.

He hums at that, more than satisfied with her answer. Kristoff isn’t the most patient person in the world, though he certainly wouldn’t have complained about waiting to find out if that was what she had wanted. It was hardly the most important thing to him, yet there’s a part of him that thinks that finding out will make it all seem more real, somehow.

“Do you have a feeling?” she asks, and he smiles knowingly at her as he drops one of their interlocked hands to her stomach.

Kristoff maneuvers his way beneath the waistband of her pyjama shorts with practiced ease, though he doesn’t wander far. Instead, he stretches his palm and places it flat across her abdomen. 

There’s no sign of what’s to come just yet - no physical evidence of the magic that’s blooming within her as they speak - but he knows that soon enough, there will be. 

“A girl,” he murmurs, his voice soft as he presses a kiss to the side of her forehead, and Anna smirks as she shakes her head from side to side. 

“Sorry to tell you, but you’re wrong,” she sing-songs, and Kristoff chuckles softly as he drops his forehead against the side of her own.

“Is that so?” 

“Yes,” she says, so confident and certain and sure of herself. “We’re having a boy. I can _feel_ it.”

Kristoff licks his lips before he speaks, his eyes drifting to a close as he thinks on that for a moment.

“A boy,” he repeats, and Anna giggles softly.

“Yes, a boy, a - a son. _Your_ son, who you can teach to sail and read the stars and to sword fight and -”

She’s silenced by the press of his lips behind her ear, and Kristoff smirks at the small sigh that his affection pulls from her. 

“I can teach my daughter all of those things too, you know,” he says, and he lifts his gaze as she tilts her face towards him. 

Kristoff leans further back against the headboard so that he can get a better view of her - his palm still pressing gently against her stomach - and he watches intently as she pulls her bottom lip in between her teeth and smiles softly. There’s something in her gaze that has him narrowing his eyes, even as she relaxes impossibly more.

“What?” he asks, a short laugh escaping him at her expression. 

Anna shakes her head slightly before she stretches her neck and places a quick, chaste kiss against his lip. 

“Nothing, honey,” she murmurs, “I just - I love you.”

Kristoff chases her lips with his own so that he can offer her a more affectionate kiss, and he grins happily as she squeezes tightly at his hands. 

“I love you too,” he responds, and then he chuckles once more when she moves to turn in his arms. 

In six weeks time, their ship will return to port in Norway. Anna will have another scan, and they’ll be able to find out what they’re having, so long as they still wish to. His mother will have most of the house ready for them, and although it was something that Kristoff had planned for them to do together, he knows that this is the next best thing; and besides, he’d like it to be finished _before_ the baby arrives. 

There’s still so much for him to think about, still so many decisions to be made and plans to put into place, but tonight, Kristoff won’t think about any of that. 

Instead, he’ll focus on now, on _Anna;_ on how good it feels when she straddles his thighs and cups his jaw in her hands, on how he still sometimes feels as though he’s in a dream when she slowly lowers herself onto his cock and rocks her hips against him. 

Soon enough, he won’t think of anything at all as he raises his hips in order to meet her with thrusts of his own, and the only coherent thought that he’ll have is how much he loves her as he finds his release. 


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have full-on square eyes after writing this so please forgive any typos etc hehe I'll try and edit it tomorrow

Anna loves her husband. She _does._

But he is easily the most infuriating man that she has ever known.

“He doesn’t look too pleased,” Kai comments, frowning as he peers down at the deck below. “Think it’s time we go back down?”

Anna huffs quickly as she leans over the railing of the crow’s nest, and her light eyes lock onto his immediately. He’s positioned with his hands on his hips and his neck craning back so that he’s able to look right up at her, and even from the significant height, she can tell that he’s wearing one of his fiercest scowls. 

It only serves to irritate her.

Anna rolls her eyes and returns to her previous position - leaning back against the platform on her palms, her face tilted towards the sun - and ignores the feeling of his eyes burning up at her legs dangling over the edge.

“He’s ridiculous,” she complains, and Kai chuckles.

“I guess it’s kind of nice, though,” he says, and Anna frowns at his words.

“How do you mean?” she asks, and she doesn’t miss the casual shrug of his shoulders before he responds.

“I don’t know,” he says, “I guess - just the fact that he cares so much.”

Anna purses her lips and squints back out to sea.

She doesn’t think that this is _kind of nice_ \- not even close. She thinks that it’s exhausting and demoralising and, more than anything, disappointing. 

After everything that they’ve been through together, the news of her pregnancy has led Kristoff to quickly return to treating her like some kind of delicate, fragile little flower that he needs to protect from the slightest gust of wind. It’s been over a week since they last indulged themselves in one another - and not without her lack of trying - and he’s been avoiding training her, too. There’s other little things, like the way in which he encourages her to lie down when she’s barely doing anything at all, or insisting that she eat when she’s not even hungry, and now -

Well. And now there’s _this._

Anna has proven herself to be capable and strong, and she needs her husband to remember that, too. 

She doesn’t so much as flinch in surprise at the sound of his voice. She was expecting his presence, and she doesn’t resist the urge to roll her eyes once more as Kai scrambles to his feet from where he was sitting beside her. 

Anna can’t bring herself to look up; knows that he’ll be saluting her husband, and that the sight of him doing so will only serve to rile her up impossibly more, and so she continues to glare out towards the sea. 

Kristoff can say whatever he likes - he can’t stop her from escaping up here.

And she can’t take another four and a half months of this. 

“Of course, Captain,” Kai says, followed by “she’s all yours.”

Anna wants to be sick.

.

.

.

Kristoff’s sword clatters to the floor, and Anna’s eyes widen in surprise at the sound. 

She can’t tear her eyes away from his, not even as the metal spins and spins and spins until it eventually comes to a halt against the wooden surface. Instead, she narrows them dramatically at him, a familiar frustration bubbling within her. 

This is what she’s always wanted, what she’s been working towards: that sound of his sword falling to the floor, the look on his face as it does, the overwhelming sense of satisfaction as she _finally_ beats him at his own game -

But it’s not real. 

He’s holding back on purpose, _humouring her,_ and she hates it. 

“Kristoff,” she grinds out, “what are you doing?”

He blinks at her. Looks perfectly innocent.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The fact that he’s so good at this has always fuelled her, has motivated her and spurred her on. It’s encouraged her to keep pushing, to try harder and harder, to give this everything that she has - and then even more - in the hopes of finally conquering him, of one day being better. It’s a dynamic that she enjoys, one that excites her; and by the time that he eventually knocks the sword right out of her hands, they’re both usually sweating and panting and aching, faces flushing red and eyes wide and lips tugging up into knowing smirks. 

Right now, though - well. 

Kristoff isn’t even _attempting_ to breathe heavily.

Anna throws her own sword down onto the floor as she glares over at him, somewhat satisfied by the way that his eyes widen in surprise. It’s over-dramatic of her, she knows; but she’s frustrated with the way in which he’s behaving recently - this almost constant attempt to wrap her in bubble wrap, to tiptoe around her - and his dark eyes soften ever so slightly when she crosses her arms over her chest. 

The redhead stares at him for a long minute before she huffs out a quick breath through her nostrils. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” she says, her tone warning; but he just smirks at her as he begins to approach, and Anna tilts her chin so that she can continue to glare up at him as he comes to stand before her.

“I still don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kristoff responds. 

It’s challenging not to lean into his touch when he lifts both of his hands and cups her face, but somehow, she manages to hold her nerve and stay completely still. 

“You’re _impossible,_ ” she tells him, and she curses herself when her lashes flutter ever so slightly as he strokes his calloused thumbs across the cheekbones.

He leans in close, brushing the tip of his nose against her own. 

“I know,” he agrees, tone teasing and laced with sarcasm as his warm breath fans over her face. “I’m the worst.”

He’s not taking her seriously, and Anna exhales sharply as her eyes narrow once more.

“Yes,” she tells him, “you _are,_ you’re -”

Kristoff cuts her off with a kiss, and despite her frustration and irritation, Anna finds herself melting at the soft press of his lips against hers.

It feels like it’s been _forever_ since he touched her. It hasn’t been, of course, and there have been plenty of kisses in between; but they’ve all been so chaste and so soft and so sweet, and Anna has been left wanting so much _more._

She thinks that there’s a possibility he might give her just that now, and the frustration that she feels towards him is quickly replaced by excitement as she licks into his mouth, and Anna moans softly as he allows her to deepen their kiss. She wraps her arms around his neck and steps closer into him, attempting to press her body tightly against his; though he near enough jumps away from her when her fingers brush against the waistband of his pants, and Anna can’t hide the hurt that she feels as she blinks up at him.

“Kris,” she whines, her voice thick, “come _on._ ”

He chuckles softly as he leans down and presses another quick kiss against her lips, but then he’s stepping away from her, his hands dropping from her face and her own returning to her sides as a result of the movement. 

“Sorry, baby,” he says, “but some of us have work to do.”

Anna well and truly pouts as he makes his way over towards the door, and the sight of him walking away leaves a bad taste in her mouth. 

She’s only just entered her second trimester. Her stomach is barely swollen at all - at a push, it looks like she’s eaten a heavy meal, but most of the time there’s nothing there at all. Anna knows that there will come a point where she physically won’t be able to do this anymore, but for now, she can; and she’s more than capable of training the way she was doing four weeks ago.

“That’s never stopped you before,” she protests, but it’s a weak attempt; and Kristoff simply chuckles softly and gestures with his hand for her to follow him. 

Reluctantly, she does.

.

.

.

“He’s just so frustrating, honestly,” Anna huffs, her eyes narrowed as she attempts to focus on the diagram. 

“He’s a man,” Yelena responds, not bothering to glance up from her book, “try not to expect too much from him.”

Anna’s grown accustomed to the older woman’s snark by now, and she doesn’t so much as bristle at her words. 

“I just - it’s like he doesn’t want me to do _anything._ Kai was there when he almost had a panic attack about me climbing the rigging, and do you want to know what he thought about it?” 

She doesn’t give Yelena the chance to respond.

“He said that it was _kind of nice._ Told me that he _cares so much._ And I just - _ugh._ It’s just irritating beyond belief.” 

Yelena scoffs and glances up from her book. “Tell your husband that you’re pregnant, not an invalid,” she responds.

Well - at least _someone_ understands.

.

.

.

Anna doesn’t tell him _quite_ the way in which Yelena recommends, but she’s not exactly far off from using those exact words.

“Don’t,” she snaps, cutting him off. She turns to face him, her eyes hard and cold, and she doesn’t miss the surprise on his features. “Don’t even _say it,_ Kristoff.”

He had found her in the control room with Mattias, and just the look on his face at the sight of her steering the wheel had sent her reeling. 

“Anna - it’s _heavy,_ ” he sighs, and she wants to scream. 

She doesn’t, though. Instead, she comes to a halt in front of their bed and pivots quickly, her eyes narrowing as she clenches her fists. 

“Kristoff, I mean it,” she says, and Anna doesn’t think that she’s ever spoken to him quite like this before; never so harsh and snappy and altogether _firm,_ but she’s well and truly losing her mind, and she doesn’t know how else to approach this. “Just - _don’t._ ”

He cocks a brow at that. He’s not challenging her, she doesn’t think; he’s just taken aback, and she watches the way in which his chest expands beneath his thin white shirt as he inhales a deep breath. 

“I’m just trying to -”

“Stop!” she says, voice louder than before. “Just - Kristoff, just _stop it._ This is just - you’re _-_ this is _insufferable_ now.”

Anna watches as he bites down on his lower lip, his shoulders sagging slightly as he stares over at her, and she almost feels guilty at the hurt that flashes in his honey-brown eyes. She inhales a deep breath and attempts to push past the mixture of shock and pain that decorate his face as she continues, the words falling from her tongue with unpracticed ease. 

They’ve fought before, but she’s never been so - well, _critical._ Not on such a personal level, anyway; and she didn’t want it to get to this, but he hasn’t been _listening._

Well. She’s got his attention now.

“I don’t mind you wanting to - I don’t know; to carry my bags, or to run me my baths, or to read my books to me so that I can close my eyes and rest. I _don’t._ ”

 _I guess it’s kind of nice,_ Kai had told her, and _that_ she could agree with. 

It was nice when he offered to carry things for her, when he smiled knowingly at her as he carefully removed items from her hands. 

It was nice when she walked into their room to find he had prepared a bath for her, when he sat with his back pressed against the side of the tub and spoke quietly to her as she bathed. 

It was nice when he pulled her head towards his chest and ran his fingers through her hair, when he read the books aloud so that they could both learn more about the changes that were happening within her whilst she rested her eyes. 

The rest of it, though - that wasn’t so nice. 

“But I’m not - just because i’m pregnant doesn’t mean that I suddenly can’t do anything that I used to do,” she continues.

She’s a little frustrated with herself, now; at how she doesn’t know how to explain the way that she feels to him, and Anna raises her arms so that she can tighten her ponytail as she huffs. 

She just wants to be herself again. To be _them_ again.

“I’m not some fragile little girl, Kris, I’m - I’m more than capable of doing everything that I did before. I can climb the rigging and steer the wheel and I can train and I can - I can -”

It’s ridiculous, really, the fact that she can’t even say it - especially all things considered. Still, she’s embarrassed - it’s not like she wants to plead and beg with her husband for him to just touch her - and her chest heaves dramatically as she blinks over at him.

Her cheeks begin to flush as her heart rate slowly begins to settle back down. 

Anna has never seen Kristoff look so - well, _shocked._ Not even when she told him the news just a fortnight ago, and his eyes are wide and lips parted, jaw slack and shoulders relaxed as he just - _stares._

As her breathing returns to normal and her body sags as the tension slowly seeps out of her, Anna waits for him to speak; but Kristoff doesn’t say a word, doesn’t so much as whisper as he continues to look over at her. 

Eventually, she whispers his name - a slip of her tongue, a slight betrayal to her earlier, frustrated self, but Anna can’t help it, not when she loves him so. Despite his ridiculousness, he’s still her husband - still _hers,_ and she doesn’t want to fight with him. 

She watches carefully as his feet shuffle, almost as if he wants to move towards her, and then his hands raise from his sides as if to reach out to her own. But then he stills, seeming to think better of it, and his lips fall into a small frown as he thinks; and it hurts, seeing him so hesitant. 

This isn’t what she wants. It’s the complete _opposite_ of what she wants. 

“Baby, I -” he starts, then stops, and she wonders if he expects her to interrupt him again. When she doesn’t, he swallows thickly before he continues. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to - to -”

He’s struggling. She can tell by the way in which his fists clench and relax repeatedly, by the way in which his mouth opens and closes, and Anna sighs as she takes a step forwards, edging closer towards him.

“I know,” she says, her voice so much quieter now, and god, she _does._

Anna knows deep down that he didn’t know, that he didn’t realise; knows that he never meant anything by it other than to look out for her, to look _after_ her, but it’s not what she wants or what she needs, and he needed to let her breathe.

They’re still learning, but they’re learning _together,_ and Anna thinks that that’s okay. 

“I know, Kris, I just - if you don’t stop treating me like this, then I’m going to lose my mind,” she breathes, and she exhales a shaky breath as she watches him step closer towards her. “I mean it. I’m still more than capable of doing all of the things that I did before.”

“Anna, I - _fuck,_ I know,” he says, and she exhales softly as he closes the distance between them and lifts his hands to her face. “I _do,_ I just - worry. About you, and about…” he swallows thickly and shakes his head, and she watches as his fair hair dances with the movement. “If anything happened to you - _either_ of you - I don’t… _shit,_ I don’t know what I’d do.”

She swallows thickly around the lump that forms in her throat at his words, and Anna lifts one of her hands to his so that she can squeeze his wrist as she continues to blink up at him. 

His eyes are so dark and yet so soft as he looks down at her, and her chest tightens as she opens her mouth to speak.

“I love you,” he murmurs, beating her to it, “I’m - Anna, I’m _sorry_.” 

She doesn’t hesitate, now; doesn’t want to waste another moment hashing this out when she knows now that he understands what she’s asking for, and so she presses up on her tiptoes and captures his lips with her own. 

It’s chaste enough, at first, but Anna still wants _more,_ and she groans in pleasure when Kristoff’s tongue sweeps across her bottom lip. She immediately opens her mouth to him and licks into his own, her hands fisting in the collar of his shirt in an attempt to pull him impossibly closer to her as she kisses him desperately. 

It doesn’t take them too long at all to return to their usual routine of wandering hands and shedding clothes, and Anna can’t help but to giggle softly at the sound of his sharp, almost pained hiss when she settles herself in his lap; her bare, wet centre hovering over his hard length. She sighs into his mouth as she resumes their thorough kiss only for him to palm at her breasts with his large, rough hands; and Anna’s thighs tremble when his thumbs sweep over her nipples at the same time he bites down gently on her bottom lip.

“I love you,” he murmurs, voice thick and low as his hands wander further south. 

She grins happily as he squeezes tightly at her cheeks, his fingers burying into her pale flesh as she bucks against his length, and her light eyes flutter to a close as she finally grinds her centre firmly against him. The movement pulls a long, languid moan from his mouth; and Anna feels his chest rumble beneath her flat palms with the sound. 

She giggles once more, and although she would love to be patient, would love to drag this out and tease him until he begs her to stop, would love to relax and take her time, she can’t help herself. As far as she’s concerned, it’s been far too long since he last touched her like this, and she can’t wait another moment more.

They groan simultaneously as she sinks herself slowly down his length, taking the time to adjust to his size - almost two weeks of not having him inside of her is clearly enough for his return to be a slight shock to the system, and she grins wickedly against his lips once he’s settled fully inside of her. Kristoff kisses her once more before he turns his attention to her bare skin, and Anna tilts her chin towards one side as he begins to place wet, open-mouthed kisses down her jaw and her neck. 

His hands remain settled on her ass as she begins to rock her hips against him, a slow, steady rhythm at first; though Anna trails her fingers up his chest so that her hands can settle firmly on his shoulders in order to steady her balance as she quickens the pace of her thrusts. His mouth continues to trail over her skin, teeth nipping lightly at her from time to time as she rides him, and Anna whines softly as he uses his grip on her behind to help her bounce against his cock. 

“ _God,_ Kris,” she moans, her eyelids squeezing to a close as she bucks against him, “I missed you.”

One of her hands drops from his shoulders and snakes between her legs, and she fails to hold back a loud moan as she circles her clit with one finger. The brief touch is enough for her thighs to begin to tremble - it really has been far too long, and she’s been so patient - and she squeezes tightly at the muscle of his bare shoulder as she cants her hips impossibly faster.

He murmurs her name, too - repeats it over and over again, chanting and babbling and whining, but Anna can’t focus on him, can’t focus on anything but the way that it feels as her legs quiver and her abdomen clenches and her breathing falters and -

Delicious warmth floods through her, has her entire form tingling with brilliant, vibrant energy; and Anna gasps and stutters as her walls clench tightly around his cock. 

When she finally re-opens her eyes, she finds that he’s near enough lying flat on his back against the mattress - no longer sitting up and resting against the headboard - and she watches intently as he uses his tight grip on her hips - _when did he move to her hips_ \- in order to help him thrust powerfully into her. 

Anna’s breathing falters as he bites down on his lower lip. Concentrating, she thinks; focusing as he fucks into her, and it doesn’t take him more than a couple of additional thrusts before he finally joins her in blissful release. 

Anna watches as his face contorts with pleasure and then eventually relaxes once he’s emptied himself inside of her, and she smiles softly down at him as she places her palms flat on the mattress on either side of his head; her long, auburn hair falling over her shoulder and tickling against his cheek and his nose as she hovers above him. 

“Hey,” she says, her voice soft and quiet, and Kristoff chuckles softly as he bats her wild strands away from his golden skin.

Anna can’t resist leaning down to him, and she presses a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth before she pulls away once more, her light eyes searching his. What for, she’s not quite certain; though she’s more than satisfied with what she finds in them.

“Hey yourself,” he responds, offering her that lop-sided grin that she loves so much; and Anna near enough squeals happily before she settles herself down against his chest. 

She raises her hips so that he can remove himself from inside of her, and though she immediately regrets the loss of him, she knows he’ll make it up to her throughout the night. 

“I love you,” she murmurs against his skin, her eyelids beginning to droop to a close. “Even if you _are_ the most infuriating man i’ve ever known.”

She feels the ghost of his lips against her hairline, and a contented sigh escapes her as he shifts beneath her so that he can reach for the sheets and pull them over her back, covering their bodies. 

“I love you, too,” he says, and she smiles as his heart rate begins to slow once he wraps his arms around her back. “And I really am sorry, Anna, I just…”

She’s tired, now; but more importantly, she’s warm and she’s satisfied and she’s loved, and Anna’s never felt as safe anywhere in her life as she does when he holds her in his arms. 

“I know,” she tells him, her eyelids drooping to a close. “Trust me, I… I know. Just - just not anymore, okay?” she asks, and she feels him nod from where his chin rests on top of her head.

"Not ever again," he breathes, "I promise."


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaaaah I'm so sad we're coming to the end of this story, but these next few chapters will be full of fluff and snuggles hehe

It’s warm when he wakes, and Kristoff doesn’t so much as open his eyes before he begins to reach blindly across the mattress. His fingertips skim over the cotton sheets and he finds her seconds later, positioned on her side just a mere few inches away from him; but even in his half-asleep state, he wants - _needs -_ her closer still, and so he drapes his arm loosely over her waist and shuffles across the small distance towards her.

There was a time when he would have instinctively pulled her towards him, when he would have wrapped his arm firmly around her and yanked her close, but he’s much more careful around her now. He doesn’t have to remind himself, either; he just _is,_ and he sighs softly as he curls himself around his wife with familiar ease. 

He shudders slightly as his bare chest presses against the cool surface of her naked back, but he knows that his body heat will warm her soon enough. His eyes remain closed - blissful and happy - as he trails over the back of her shoulder with the tip of his nose before he burrows his face into the crook of her neck and inhales deeply. 

He’ll shave later, but for now, she hums softly as his stubble grazes over her skin.

He’s such a fucking _sap,_ he knows he is; but he can’t help it, not with Anna, and he smiles against her as she nuzzles herself further into her pillow. Life at sea made sure that Kristoff was never one for lazy mornings - there was never time to lounge, not when there was so much to be done in order to ensure the smooth running of the ship - but there are now so many mornings like this where he thinks of how he would be more than happy to stay curled around her in bed for the rest of the day.

 _Soon enough,_ he thinks; though they certainly won’t be alone anymore when they finally have that opportunity. At least he’s used to sleepless, restless nights, to early mornings - waking before the sun - and long days. 

He thinks that the adjustment to their sleeping pattern will be more a surprise to Anna than it will be for him, though his ma made a point of telling him that nothing in the world could prepare either of them for what’s to come.

His blunt fingernails drag over her skin as he moves to press his palm flat against the slight swell of her stomach, and just a beat or two later, Anna’s own hand comes to rest over his. She squeezes gently at him, and Kristoff lets out a long exhale as he savours the easy peace they’ve found together, locks it away in his memory as he slips one of his legs between both of hers. 

They’ve been through so much together, and so much more will change between them come December. He’s excited, of course, but he wants to enjoy this, too.

This blissful quiet. This easy peace. 

He attempts to concentrate on the way that his hand feels as it rests against her abdomen, waits for the slight kicks that never seem to come despite his wife’s insistence that she can feel them, that she knows they’re there. There’s no room for disappointment, though; not yet, not when he knows that soon enough, he’ll be able to feel her, too. 

_Him,_ Anna’s voice breathes in the back of his mind, and his smile widens. 

“Why’re you in such a good mood this mornin’?” she says through a yawn, her voice groggy and thick with sleep, and he shifts impossibly closer towards her and kisses the juncture of her shoulder.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he asks as Anna leans further into her pillow, stretching slightly so as to offer him better access to the expanse of her neck. “I’ve got you, don’t I?”

He trails chaste, quick kisses against her skin; and the sound of her soft giggle as his stubble continues to rub against her causes his chest to tighten. 

“You’re sweet,” she responds, turning her head so that she can blink her sleepy eyes open to him, and _fuck,_ he loves her so much that it _hurts_.

“Yeah,” he chuckles, “only for you, though.” 

He feels her squeeze his hand tightly where it continues to rest on her abdomen, and he sucks in a quick breath at the look in her eyes.

“For _us,_ you mean,” she says, voice soft and gentle, and Kristoff drops his forehead against her own and swallows thickly before he nods. 

“Right,” he says, heart racing a little faster. “For you both.”

.

.

.

August creeps to an end, and Kristoff knows that come December, he’ll never want to set foot on this ship again. 

The waves and the wood and the sails don’t feel so much like a prison anymore, and his heart swells at the thought of finally being free. It doesn’t terrify him anymore, either; and the thought of the ground staying still beneath his feet and the air not tasting of bitter salt are things that seem comforting rather than intimidating. 

Besides, he won’t be alone - he’ll have Anna and their children, and his ma and Olaf will be close, too; and should he ever be overcome with the urge to return to the sea, then the ship will still be his.

Mattias sighs heavily from where he stands beside him, though there’s a small smile on his face and a proud look in his dark eyes. He claps his Captain twice on the shoulder, his bottom lip trembling only ever so slightly following their conversation.

Kristoff is still the Captain of this ship, and he has to know that he’s doing right by his crew whilst he’s gone. Whether his absence lasts for a few months or a few years, or even _forever,_ he has to know that he’s doing the right thing - not only for his father’s sake, but for his family’s. 

“You’re sure about this?” Mattias asks, and Kristoff nods his head once.

It doesn’t mean what it used to mean to him anymore. Not when there’s Anna, not when there’s the baby. 

It means something to his first mate, though. And maybe it will mean something to him again someday. 

“I’m sure,” he confirms. “Besides, I know that I’m leaving it in good hands.”

.

.

.

It’s always good to see his ma again, though she doesn’t seem keen on the idea of spending time catching up with them both immediately. He would usually be at least a little offended by her overwhelming lack of interest in him, but he knows that there’s always some kind of rhyme or reason to her behaviour, however odd it may be.

Kristoff notices the lack of Olaf at the docks, though he doesn’t get a chance to ask her about that, either. The way in which his mother takes his wife by the hand and waves him over towards them - her gestures and movements full of impatience and urgency despite the bags that he’s carrying - has him thinking that there’s most likely a good reason as to why she’s not brought the boy along with her to greet them.

“Come on,” she calls out to him, and he lets out a huff of his own before he jogs over towards them. “I want to see what you think of the house!”

.

.

.

There’s still a part of him that wishes that they could have had this, that they could have fixed the place up together like he imagined they would when he first bought the property. He had thought it out, planned it so well - had pictured long days full of cleaning and painting, of laughter and soft singing filling the walls of their first home whilst they worked; but he finds some small comfort in knowing that it would have never truly worked out that way, anyway. 

Even if they hadn’t needed to return to sea, Anna wouldn’t have really been able to decorate the entire house - not for her lack of capability, but from exhaustion and nausea along with the fact that she really shouldn’t be doing anything strenuous. 

Still, he knows that he’s lucky to have his ma. She’s done a beautiful job of cleaning the place up. It’s all pristine white walls and wooden floorboards and sparse furniture, and Kristoff knows that she’s left it all as plain as possible so that the two of them still have the opportunity to figure out ways in which to make it their own.

She’s thoughtful like that.

Once she’s satisfied that the couple are more than happy with everything that she’s done with the house over the last six weeks, his ma makes to leave; and Kristoff hugs her tightly on the front porch and promises to see her for dinner. They still need to sort out some things for the house - furniture especially - but whilst it’s more than ready for them to be able to stay there, it won’t stop him from seeing his ma often enough.

Besides, they still need to surprise Olaf.

Anna embarked upon another lap of the house whilst he saw his mother off, and Kristoff knows instinctively where she’ll be. He moves quietly up the stairs and across the landing, not wanting to disturb her, and he finds her exactly where he thought she would be just a few moments later.

She’s looking out at the view of their land from the large bay window, and Kristoff leans casually against the doorframe and watches her for a brief while. 

It still blows his mind, sometimes - that she’s real, that she’s here, that she’s _his._

Her auburn hair falls in soft, loose waves down her back; and Anna’s been complaining of how much of it there is now, of how her hormones are causing it to grow thicker and longer by the day, but he isn’t complaining. She’s practically glowing now, too; beauty radiating from her impossibly more so than before, and her skin is a little more pink and her freckles a little darker from the summer sun that has blessed them whilst they’ve been at sea. 

No more storms and no more sickness, and the blonde rolls his eyes at the memory of his own ridiculousness. 

After a few beats, he clears his throat, and Anna quickly turns over her shoulder to face him. A bright smile lights up her features as she blinks over towards him, and his chest tightens impossibly more at the sight.

“Hey,” she grins, twisting her body a little to the side so that she can face him better. 

He chuckles. “So,” he says, dark eyes dancing around the room before landing on her face again, “do you like it?”

Anna rolls her eyes at that, and Kristoff shoulders himself away from the doorframe and begins to step towards her. 

“ _Yes,_ ” she breathes, her light eyes shining as he drapes one of his arms over her shoulders. She leans her body against his, that bright smile still playing on her lips as she tilts her chin to look up at him. “It’s - I love it. It’s all so perfect.”

He agrees, of course; and he laughs softly as she begins to talk about her plans for the room to him, spelling out her vision for it all in case there was any confusion on his part.

(There wasn’t.)

“I mean, he’ll stay in our room with us for the first few months, anyway; but we could have his crib right here -”

“ _Her_ crib, you mean.”

“Her - no, _his_ crib,” she says, her lips pulling into a smile despite the narrowing of her eyes, and Kristoff rolls his own at her before he presses a kiss to her forehead. 

“The next one, then,” he responds, only half-teasing; and Anna snorts before she presses up on her tiptoes to place a kiss to his lips.

He realises then how little opportunity he’s had to kiss her today, and he remedies it happily; slotting his mouth against her own and trailing his tongue against her bottom lip, his eyes fluttering to a close as he deepens their kiss. She mewls softly into his mouth, and Kristoff sighs contentedly as her hands move to bury into the back of his hair. 

“I love you,” she whispers between kisses, and he smiles against her lips as he walks them backwards out of the room and towards their new bedroom.

.

.

.

His knee bounces repeatedly, and the sound of his shoe tap-tapping rhythmically against the gleaming floor is driving him insane, but he can’t stop, can’t keep still. Restless energy courses through him as he bites down upon his lip, and he glances up at the clock on the wall before he checks the watch on his wrist, just to be sure. 

It only serves to piss him off more.

He has no idea what’s taking so fucking long. They arrived early, and they were supposed to be seen five minutes ago, and what the fuck is his high premium for if his wife isn’t going to be seen on time - 

One of Anna’s small hands lands upon his thigh, and his knee stops bouncing immediately. The surprise contact causes him to snap his head over towards her, and he lets out the breath that he didn’t realise he was holding; his clenches fists relaxing and his shoulders sagging slightly as the irritation begins to leave his body.

Blue eyes dance over his own, and Anna smiles softly as he softens under her touch. 

“Hey,” she says, the playful laughter in her voice doing very little to hide the concern in her eyes, and Kristoff swallows thickly at the sight of it. “Are you okay?”

He manages a jerky nod before he sighs heavily. 

“Just - just nervous,” he admits, his eyes casting down towards the floor, though they shoot up to meet with her own once again as she squeezes softly at his leg over his jeans. 

He instinctively moves to cover her hand with one of his own, and Anna smiles happily before she shuffles closer towards him in her seat. Her head comes to rest on his shoulder, and Kristoff huffs out another breath before he leans into her touch. His cheek comes to rest against the top of her head - the fine hairs there tickling his nostrils and his lips - and he almost asks her what she thinks it taking so long before he thinks better of it. 

Somehow, he has a feeling that she wouldn’t be too pleased about his impatience, and he knows better than to push his pregnant wife’s buttons.

Despite their teasing, Kristoff thinks now of how he doesn’t care much about whether or not they have a son or a daughter, not so long as they’re healthy and safe; but he feels so _helpless,_ so lost and completely out of control. His ma may have assured him that this was all normal, that it comes with the territory, but Kristoff still wonders how he’ll make it to December without going grey, never mind the next eighteen years (and then some). 

“Mrs Bjorgman?” an unfamiliar voice calls, and the two of them both look up at the smiling woman at the same time. 

The frustration that he’s been feeling quickly churns into a mixture of excitement and panic, and his heart begins to race within his chest as she continues. “If you’d like to follow me -”

Kristoff finds himself automatically moving before Anna does, and he jerks to a clumsy stand before turning round and holding his hand out towards her. She rolls her eyes gently at him as she regards his extended palm, and for the briefest of moments, he’s taken back to the night that they found Olaf; the night when she refused his hand, when she made a point of jumping down from the ladder to the small boat without his assistance. 

He wonders whether she thinks of these moments as often as he does, wonders what she made of him then compared to what she makes of him now. 

This time is different, though - just like so many moments are. This time, Anna humours him; and his shoulders sag in relief at the feel of her palm sliding into his own. 

He just needs her close. That’s all. Just wants to feel her skin against his, a constant reminder that she’s here.

“Of course,” Anna responds to the unfamiliar woman. “Thank you.”

She flashes one of her bright, happy smiles as she makes a move to follow her, and Kristoff heaves out a long breath before he moves, too. They walk down the familiar corridor towards the scanning room, and Kristoff’s never been a religious man - doesn’t think it would be possible for him to be, not with the things he’s seen, the things he’s _done_ \- but for the first time in his life, he finds himself offering the universe a small prayer. 

_So long as they’re healthy,_ he thinks. _So long as they’re safe._


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter got the better of me and I am now vowing to never make Anna pregnant in any of my fics ever again (: 
> 
> I guess trigger warning for descriptions of birth. it's nothing gory - I would have never have been able to go into detail without boring u to sleep (which this chapter may do anyway because I didn't want to split it into 2) - but, you know, just a heads up!

“How did you know?”

It’s not the first time that she’s asked him that question, and Kristoff chuckles softly. 

“I mean, the odds weren’t exactly against me,” he retorts, and he swallows thickly as she begins to draw a lazy pattern over his chest with her fingers.

His lips curve at the feet of her fingernails raking against his flesh, and his dark eyes flutter to a close as she spells out her name over and over again. It’s something so simple that she’s done for almost as long as he can remember her being with him, and he wonders what she’d think if he had it seeping into his skin in permanent ink; a bold declaration right over his heart.

Other Captains have them, he knows - hell, half of the men on his ship do, but he’s not quite sure what she’d think, not convinced that she’d be too keen on the idea.

He tucks it away in the back of his mind, something that he’ll return to later.

Kristoff allows himself to indulge in these long, quiet moments with her; knows that they won’t last forever, knows that soon enough, there will be squeals and cries and bags under eyes, seemingly endless nights and longer days and broken sleep in between. As much as his mother has assured him that it will all be worth it, there’s no doubt in his mind that his daughter - _their_ daughter - will bring new challenges for them both. 

Anna’s palm presses flat against his skin as a contented sigh escapes her, and she shuffles a little further up the bed so that she can rest her chin on top of her hand. She blinks up at him, all wide eyes and light freckles and a knowing smile, and his heart swells at the thought of seeing more of those eyes, of seeing more of _her._

Kristoff has to tilt his chin slightly in order to maintain eye contact with her, and he’s sure that it’s not exactly the most flattering angle of himself, but _she_ looks so beautiful; and he instinctively moves one hand to her face and skims over the line of her jaw with his fingers. 

He hopes with everything that he has that their daughter looks just like her.

Anna laughs softly when he tells her as much.

“I don’t know,” she grins, her eyes dancing over his face. “I hope that she has your hair.”

“No way,” he responds immediately, his brows pulling together. “She’ll be a redhead, just like you.”

His fingers subconsciously move to bury into the auburn strands as his thumb dances over her cheek, and Anna moves to press a quick kiss against the pad of it before she smiles up at him once more.

“You say that like you know,” she murmurs, though he shrugs from where he leans casually against the headboard of their bed.

“Doesn’t matter, anyway,” he tells her. “She’ll be perfect.”

“Of course she will be,” Anna agrees, pressing down on his chest as she leans in close. “She’s _ours._ ”

.

.

.

For the first time in three years, Kristoff smiles on his birthday. 

Anna knows him well enough to know that he doesn’t want a fuss. His life is different, now - he’s a husband and a father (his daughter might not be in his arms yet, but that doesn’t matter, he _is_ ) - but that doesn’t mean that the day doesn’t still bring sadness and regret with it, and he’s grateful that she doesn’t push the subject with him too far.

He wonders how different things would be if his father hadn’t died that day. If they would have been quicker, smarter, if they would have been _prepared;_ if his ma would have had any idea how to defend herself, if they wouldn’t have left her behind in the first place, if someone could have knocked the gun out of that asshole’s hands and redirected the shot. 

This year, the _what if’s_ bring new questions with them, too. Because he’d always wondered about how things would have been if he wouldn’t have been made Captain of this ship so young, but if he wasn’t Captain, then he wouldn’t have Anna _._

 _Fuck,_ if that isn’t enough to mess with his head, then Kristoff doesn’t know what is.

He wakes to soft, gentle kisses that soon escalate into more; and he indulges himself in these moments, too, since he knows that it won’t be practical for them to continue this way for much longer - not when she’s already restless and irritable, not when she’s already so exhausted and drained. 

Afterwards, he leaves her to return to her slumber whilst he gets ready for the day, and - thankfully enough - it’s much like any other. There are always monitors to be checked and routes to be planned, shipments to be organised and invoices to be confirmed; and, above all else, there are always men to be managed. 

None of that stops just because it’s Kristoff’s birthday - none of that stops for _anything,_ and it’s always been the way that he’s liked it; but it’s another reminder of why he can’t continue like this, another reminder of why he has to leave.

The work on board doesn’t come to an end, and no matter how hard you plough away at it, there’s always more to be done come morning. It gives him little opportunity to dwell on anything else, and that in itself has kept him sane these last three years. 

By the time that Kristoff returns to their quarters come early evening, he’s exhausted; and despite the fact that Anna had tracked him down for lunch - and made a point of peppering his face with what she declared to be _happy birthday kisses -_ she makes more fuss over him. 

“Happy birthday!” she grins as she rocks herself up onto her tiptoes and loops her arms around his neck, and Kristoff’s own hands move to settle on either side of her hips. 

He rolls his eyes, though there’s no malice behind the gesture, and he leans forwards to press a quick, chaste kiss to her lips.

“How are you feeling?” he asks as his eyes dance over her face, and despite her bright smile and flushed cheeks, he doesn’t miss the dark bags that linger beneath her lids. 

Anna hasn’t been sleeping well at all these last few nights. If it’s not that she can’t get comfortable, then it’s the fact that she’s having to get up constantly throughout the night to go to the bathroom, and despite her protests that she _can_ do more, he tends to find that she catches up on sleep in scattered portions throughout the day. 

As she drops her arms away from his neck and gently falls back down onto her heels, Kristoff brushes his palms beneath the fabric of her oversized white shirt so that his hands rest flat against the slight swell of her stomach. She shivers at the contact, though she beams brightly up at him as her own hands move to grip loosely at his wrists.

“Better now,” she says, and his lips curve up in a matching grin as he feels the distinct movements against his palms. 

These rolls and nudges are becoming more forceful as their daughter grows stronger each day - no longer subtle vibrations or gentle taps - and his shoulders sag as he shuffles impossible closer towards her.

“She knows that it’s you,” she says, “she knows your voice.”

“You think so?” he asks, chest tightening at the idea, and Anna’s laugh is light and airy as she squeezes his wrists. 

“I _know_ so,” she responds, and he leans forwards and kisses her once more. 

.

.

.

Anna rapidly loses interest in the books and leaflets that the hospital provided them with. 

He supposes that it makes sense - after all, she’s the one that’s living through this, and there’s only so much that the words on the pages can tell her that she doesn’t know already. Still, Kristoff feels hopeless and clueless and useless, and so he clings to them as much as he can in order to make sense of - well, _everything._

His days are still busy, of course - regardless of what’s going on in his life, he’s still the Captain of this ship until December - but he attempts to read at least a few pages each night before he goes to sleep. He learns all sorts of things about anatomy and physiology, about the size of their daughter and the way in which her brain is developing, about hiccups and breathing patterns and _shit, Anna - did you know that she can_ dream _?_

His wife grows impossibly restless during the night, and whilst she seems to be more comfortable on her right hand side - surrounded by cushions and pillows and usually positioned with one of her legs hoisted up over his thighs - the books tell him that she should be sleeping on her left. He attempts to explain this to her, but the words come out all wrong, and he isn’t even halfway through the sentence before she cuts in with a tight, hissed warning; and Kristoff presses his lips to a firm close and doesn’t speak of the matter again. 

Well, at least not to Anna, anyway. He asks Yelena about it, too; though she sides with his wife and agrees that he’s best leaving these things alone. 

They had both assumed that Anna had managed to get away with the sickness (bar the one episode early on), though it returns in full force as she approaches the third trimester, and Kristoff frowns as he gathers up her hair and rubs his other hand over her back whilst she retches into the toilet bowl. 

None of the books mention anything about nausea of vomiting towards the _end_ of pregnancy, nor do they mention anything about it coming other than in the morning’s, either; though the look on her face when he mutters that under his breath is enough of a warning in itself. 

He swallows thickly as she wipes at the back of her mouth with her fluffy dressing gown, and her eyes narrow dramatically at him. 

“Kristoff,” she says through gritted teeth, “I love you, honey, I _do._ But _please -_ enough with the books.”

He can’t find it within himself to part with the one that tells him all about their daughter and her development thus far, but the rest don’t teach him anything more about Anna, and so he parts with them easily enough. 

.

.

.

October brings bitter winds and rough seas, and Kristoff finds himself counting down the days until he never has to worry about the safety of his wife - or his daughter - ever again.

Alright, so he knows that’s not _entirely_ true, knows that he’ll worry no matter where they are; but he finds comfort in the fact that he’ll never have to think about the possibility of huge waves swallowing them whole or violent men taking siege when they least expect it.

“The last of the furniture came today, so everything’s ready for when you come home,” his ma says down the line. “And _oh,_ you should see some of the clothes that everyone’s been knitting for the baby!”

“That’s great, ma,” he tells her, “thank you.”

“Of course,” she responds, and he can hear the smile in her voice. “How’s Anna doing?”

“Yeah, she’s great,” he tells her, a smile tugging on his own lips. “I’ve -”

“Are you taking good care of her?”

He scoffs at that. “Yeah, I’m - well, I mean, I’m _trying_ to, but I think that I’m just getting on her nerves a lot of the -”

“That sounds about right,” his ma interrupts once more, and Kristoff rolls his eyes despite the knowing smile on his face. “And has she made up her mind yet? About -”

“Where she’ll have the baby?” he sighs. “No. Well - I think that she’s leaning more towards the ship, but I’m not - that’s not definite, anyway.”

“Well,” she says, “wherever she chooses will be perfect, I’m sure. And you know the hospital’s not too far away, if you need it.”

Kristoff squeezes his eyes tightly to a close as another long, leavy breath escapes him. He really doesn’t want to have to think about worst-case scenarios right now.

“Anyway,” she says, “I better get going and finish cooking dinner. I’ll see you soon, baby. Love you.”

“Love you, too,” he says. 

For the first time in a long time, he feels worse after speaking to his ma.

.

.

.

Anna lets out a contented sigh as one of his hands works away at her tense shoulders whilst the other remains settled on her abdomen. She leans her back further against his chest as her head lolls to the side, and he smiles fondly at the feel of his daughter pushing against the palm of his hand.

Her silk blue nightgown is parted in the middle - her stomach far too swollen for her to be able to tie it to a close, anymore - and Kristoff gently traces his fingers over her skin. She’s been complaining about the ragged marks that cover her skin, though he finds himself filled with nothing but pride at the evidence of how well their daughter is growing. 

“She’s wide awake tonight,” he murmurs, his voice soft and low, and his smile grows impossibly wider at the feel of a responding kick. His dark eyes flutter to a close as he leans his cheek against the top of Anna’s head, and he thinks of how soon enough, they’ll be able to hold her in their arms.

His wife hums in agreement. “Do you think that maybe this is a warning?” she asks, and he blinks his eyes open once more as her small hand comes to rest over the top of his. “Like, I don’t know - some kind of sign that she’s going to be a night owl?” 

Kristoff chuckles as he presses a chaste kiss to her temple. “Probably,” he says, “I mean - aren’t all babies, though?”

She shrugs at that, and she manages a quick _idunno_ before another long, low moan escapes her lips as he continues to work away at her shoulder. 

“You know,” he continues, “we never did finish talking names.”

Anna shrugs him off as she turns her head to the opposite side - effectively blocking his access to the shoulder he had been working on - and Kristoff takes the hint and makes quick work of switching his hands around so that he can get to work on her other side.

“Oh?” she says, and he feels her grin against the crook of his neck. “I thought that we had.”

“I - really?” he asks, his brows lifting in surprise as she brushes the tip of her nose against his skin. 

“I mean - well, I thought so,” she responds. 

Kristoff is quiet for a long moment whilst he thinks about it, and then he speaks again; his voice quieter, now - more uncertain.

“I thought that it was supposed to be harder than this,” he admits, “I thought we were - I don’t know. Guess I didn’t think we’d both just…”

“Agree?” she asks, laughter in her voice, and he sighs as he moves to press a chaste kiss to her temple. 

“It’s not that,” he frowns, unsure of how to tell her what he means. “I knew that we would - I just figured it would take longer. Or something.”

“Well, we’ve always got time to think about changing it, if you -”

“No,” he says quickly, his head shaking from side to side. “No I - I like it. It’s perfect. I mean - so long as you still -”

“Yes,” she giggles, and she pulls herself forwards so that she can turn her head over her shoulder and blink up at him. “Of course I do. You’re right - it’s perfect.”

His own tense shoulders sag, and Kristoff pushes himself away from the headboard so that his chest is pressed against Anna’s back once more. His chin comes to rest on her shoulder, and he inhales deeply as both of his hands come to rest over her abdomen. 

“I love you,” she breathes, and he smiles as he buries his face into her hair and inhales deeply. 

“I love you, too.” 

.

.

.

It’s early December when they port in Norway, and Kristoff’s mouth presses into a firm, hard line as he watches the men hurry to leave the deck and land on the snowy ground for the final time as Captain. 

Mattias stands beside him, and the weight on his shoulders has never felt quite like this, before. 

He’s ready, he _is._ He never wanted this life, never wanted the title or the responsibility or the power that comes with the role; and so he had thought that saying goodbye would be easier, thought that it would have felt - 

Well. _Better._

“It’ll always be here for you, you know,” Mattias tells him as he blinks out to sea. “Whenever you’re ready to come back.”

That’s the problem, Kristoff thinks.

He knows he never will. 

.

.

.

In the end, Anna opts to stay on the ship.

“I’m safe here,” she tells him, “safe and comfortable and _home._ ”

He has his doubts, of course - he doesn’t think that there’s anything particularly wrong with the hospital, thinks that it makes sense to be close to specialists in case anything _happens_ \- but this is what she wants, and he’s not going to push her about it.

“I’ve seen enough births in my time,” Yelena tells him, “and trust me - the less people intervene, the better.”

Kristoff doesn’t doubt that Yelena’s seen plenty of babies be born, but she’s also worked on this ship for as long as he can remember, and he wonders just how rusty she is.

Nevertheless, it works out well enough. Whilst his men clear the ship, Yelena - and Mattias - opt to stay on board with the couple, and it makes for a quiet, peaceful environment. His ma tells him almost every day how she would more than happily stay on the ship, too; but Yelena doesn’t seem too pleased about the idea, and Anna’s mentioned before how she wants it to be just the two of them, so he politely declines. 

Her pains start early in the afternoon, and although he instinctively wants to insist that she get some rest, Yelena encourages Anna to stay active and mobile whilst she can. The magic words come in the form of _quicker_ and _stronger_ and _better position,_ and Kristoff finds himself spending the next few hours roaming over the snow-covered hills hand-in-hand with his wife.

She can’t walk particularly fast, so it takes them much longer than usual to make it around the small town, but there’s no rush, not really; and so he takes his time as they talk about everything and nothing all at once, and he stops to adjust her scarf though she insists that she’s fine. 

He doesn’t know what else to do with his trembling hands, though. 

Yelena’s advice seems to do the trick, and in the early hours of the nineteenth of December, Anna’s contractions come thicker and faster and stronger; and once she can no longer talk to him through them, Kristoff knows that it’s time to call for the older woman.

She takes one look at his wife before she returns her attention back to Kristoff, and there’s a knowing look in her dark eyes as she regards him.

“Water will help,” she explains, though he knows that, at least - she’s told him as much several times before. “How about a bath?”

So Kristoff finds himself filling the tub with warm water, and as much as he wants to fuss over the temperature - it’s far too hot for her, he’s certain that it is - Anna is far too gone to discuss the matter, and she lets out a dramatic sigh as she lowers herself down into the tub.

“I don’t think that we have much longer to wait,” Yelena murmurs to him as she settles herself down on the floor, and Kristoff swallows thickly as he scrambles over the tub and reaches for one of Anna’s hands.

Yelena makes quick work of emptying the contents of the black bag that she’s carried with her, and his dark eyes quickly rake over the equipment. There’s a torch and a small mirror amongst other things that he doesn’t recognise, and his heart races as she smiles knowingly over at him. 

Kristoff doesn’t know what to do with himself, and time seems to hurry by and move so slowly all at the same time. He doesn’t know where or how to sit, and finds himself rocking and moving and switching positions almost as frequently as his wife. He doesn’t know what to touch, and he finds himself alternating between gripping tightly to the side of the tub and offering Anna his hands for her to do as she pleases whilst she works through the pain. He doesn’t know what to say or to think, and even as water cascades over the tub and wets his shirt whilst Anna writhes in the water, Kristoff doesn’t so much as flinch. 

“We could probably do with some towels, now,” Yelena says to him, and Kristoff’s eyes widen as he nods his head rapidly.

That was their code, the one that they had decided weeks before. When the baby was ready to come, then Yelena would ask him to go and fetch some towels.

“I - towels,” he repeats, his head bobbing up and down, “right.” 

The older woman smiles even as a wrangled sound falls from Anna’s lips, and it’s enough to have him hurry to his feet. 

“Quite a few of them, too,” Yelena instructs, and Kristoff somehow manages to make it over to the other side of the bathroom in order to grab as many soft, fluffy towels as he can without tripping or slipping or falling flat on his face.

By the time that he makes it back not even sixty seconds later, Yelena is holding the mirror underwater whilst her other hand is positioned mid-air, angling the torch down towards the glass. Kristoff chances a glance at whatever it is that she’s looking at - though it doesn’t look like much to him, at least not from this angle - and he places the towels haphazardly onto the floor before he returns to his knees beside the tub. 

One of Anna’s hands grips tightly at his wrist as she looks over at him, and her blue eyes are wilder than he’s ever seen them before.

“I don’t think I can do this,” she says, her voice dry and raspy; and Kristoff swallows thickly as he attempts to offer her a reassuring smile. 

“You can,” he offers, though his voice breaks on the words. 

“You _will,_ ” Yelena says, her tone full of firm confidence, and his wife’s face contorts once again. “Now, Anna; it’s important that you listen to me,” the older woman continues, and Kristoff feels something akin to floating away as he watches on. 

If someone would have told him at the beginning of the year that he would be here now, in this moment - with his wife gripping tightly to his hand as she gives birth to their daughter on their ship - then he would have never believed them; and yet here he is, the cool metal on his finger and the marks on his hand all the evidence that he needs. 

The sound of Anna’s ragged breaths fill the space as she suddenly releases his hand and reaches down into the water, and moments later, Kristoff’s previously muffled ears are greeted with the loud, powerful sound of his daughter’s cry. He watches with wide, watery eyes as his wife settles the bright-red bundle against her bare chest, and Yelena leans over his head in order to place a towel over the newborn and begins to rub rather vigorously. 

He should move, really - should at least attempt to duck his head, or shuffle to the side so that he’s out of her way, but he can’t. He’s frozen into place as he gapes at the beautiful sight of his wife and his daughter, and when Anna lifts her chin and grins over at him, he finally releases the breath that he hadn’t realised he had been holding.

She did it. She really did it, and she’s here, they both are, and _oh._

The tears fall freely, now; and _fuck,_ he really should get out of Yelena’s way, but the older woman places a hand on his shoulder and squeezes gently at him, and he takes it as a silent instruction to stay where he is.

He’s relieved, really - Kristoff’s pretty sure that he won’t be able to move for a while, yet.

“You did it,” he whispers, the sound of his own voice surprising even himself. “ _God,_ baby - _you did it._ ”

Anna grins triumphantly over at him as their daughter wails once more, and Yelena moves to replace the wet towel with a fresh, clean one. 

“There,” she says, “much better.” 

As the older woman moves away, she’s saying something about the afterbirth, now; how it might take an hour or so to come, but Kristoff can’t think of anything other than how surreal this all is as he leans curiously over the side of the tub. 

“She’s beautiful,” Anna murmurs as she tilts her chin down, and he watches in awe as she presses a soft kiss to the top of her head. 

“She is,” he agrees, relief and pride flooding through him all at once as a disbelieving laugh tumbles from his throat. His heart is fit to burst, and tears prick his eyes once again. “She’s _perfect._ ”


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe that we're here! Next chapter is the epilogue. 
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who has been so supportive and enthusiastic and just generally lovely about this little story :) it's meant so much to me and I can't believe we're at the end!

Her skin is damp, causing the ends of her hair to stick to her arms beneath the blanket that covers them both, and her bottom half still feels somewhat numb. Her still-swollen stomach feels strangely empty, and she can’t seem to get comfortable no matter how she sits -

But Anna can’t recall ever feeling so content, so _happy,_ and she sighs softly as she runs her fingers carefully over one of the daughter’s soft, fuzzy cheeks.

The newborn is satisfied after her first feed, and she’s finally dozed off in the centre of Anna’s chest. She’s so _tiny_ \- all seven pounds and eight ounces - fitting so perfectly in the space between Anna’s breasts, almost as if it was made just for her to be cradled against; and despite the fact that her skin is coated in a sheen layer of sweat as a result of the warmth that comes from being in skin-to-skin for several hours, Anna doesn’t want to move.

She would be more than happy to stay like this forever.

She’s heard about this kind of love before - the kind that’s sudden and instinctive and whole, the kind that blooms at first sight and takes a tight, firm hold; and she hadn’t known what to expect, before, but it all makes so much sense now. 

Her chest tightens as she marvels at her daughter.

She’s lost in a world of her own as she stares down at the small bundle in her arms - a world that’s _theirs -_ and the gentle waves that lick against the ship rock them together. One of her hands rests against the top of the blanket in order to keep her close and steady, and the other alternates between stroking her face and her hair. 

Anna is determined to commit every little detail about her to memory. 

From her soft, pale skin to her perfect, pouting lips, her thick, dark lashes to her fair, downy hair, she’s the most beautiful thing that Anna’s ever seen _,_ and she hums softly as the pads of her fingers brush back and forth over her cheek.

“Hey.”

Kristoff’s voice is low and quiet, but it’s still enough to quickly snap her out of the trance that she was in, and Anna startles. He offers her an apologetic smile as he closes the door to the room and makes his way across the wooden floor, leaning against one of the bedposts as he toes out of his boots.

“Hi,” she responds, the bright smile on her face making up for the hoarseness of her voice, and her light eyes flutter to a close as he places one of his hands on top of the headboard and leans down to press a chaste kiss to her damp forehead. “Was everything alright?”

“Everything’s fine,” he says, his hand sliding down from the headboard to rest against the top of her back. “How was she?”

Anna hums in amusement as she follows his gaze down to their daughter.

“What, in the five minutes that you were gone?” she teases, though he smiles knowingly as he lowers himself down beside her on their bed, scooching in close beside them.

They both look down at the sleeping bundle in her arms, and Anna hums in appreciation when his fingernails scratch lightly against her scalp. She can’t recall the last time that she managed to get more than an hour or two of sleep without needing to get up and use the bathroom, and whilst yesterday had been long - filled with painful contractions that built up from early afternoon way into the evening - this morning had been intense, and painful, and _hard,_ and she knows that adrenaline is the only thing keeping her awake. 

“You did so good, Anna,” he murmurs, “I’m so proud of you.”

Her eyes widen ever so slightly at his words, and he leans in close, his lips brushing against her hairline as he speaks.

He’s said those words to her before, though she was a different person back then. It wasn’t that long ago, not really; but time in general has felt so strange since the moment that she boarded this ship, and the memory of wide eyes and trembling hands, of her gasping, panicked breaths and racing heart seems so distant, so far away. 

All of the fear and the worry and the disbelief at the world she had been thrown into have disappeared along the way, and Anna focuses on how she feels right now; on the steady beating of her heart, on the rise and fall of her chest, on her daughter and her husband and the overwhelming love that she feels in this moment.

“I can’t believe that she’s real,” she whispers, and Kristoff lifts his free hand and cups the back of her small head with it. 

“Me neither,” he agrees. Then, after a beat, “she’s perfect.”

Anna’s smile brightens as she tilts her chin in order to look at him. 

“Of course she is,” she says, an echo of her own words, “she’s _ours._ ” 

.

.

.

A short while later - once she’s fed and dozed back to sleep once more - Anna’s own eyelids begin to droop, and Kristoff nudges her softly.

“Hey,” he murmurs, “you alright?”

“Just tired,” she tells him, and then, “do you want to hold her?”

He’s been waiting ever so patiently, has given her the time and the space to bond with their daughter whilst he watched with longing eyes, and whilst Anna’s thankful for the hours that they had uninterrupted, she knows that it’s not safe to hold her like this now that sleep is softly pulling her in. 

Kristoff doesn’t miss a beat. “Of course.”

He leans over towards the bedside table in order to reach the tiny clothes that remain settled there, but Anna shakes her head softly at him as she straightens her back against the headboard. 

“If you take your shirt off and have the blanket over you both, then it’ll keep her warm,” she explains, and he hesitates only for a second before he leans forwards and shrugs out of his shirt, tossing it onto the floor. 

She can’t stop smiling, not today, and though it feels strange to be separated from her daughter for the first time since birth, Anna’s heart soars as she watches her husband carefully take her small form into his large hands and place her in the centre of his broad chest. 

She looks impossibly smaller now that she’s settled against him, and Kristoff smiles happily as he inches himself back against the headboard. He releases a long, heavy breath through his nostrils as she peers down at her, and he covers them both with the blanket before he cups the back of her head with one of his hands. 

“Hello, Freja,” he says, his voice gentler than she’s ever heard before, and Anna watches fondly as he strokes his thumb back and forth over her downy locks.

He had been convinced that she would be a redhead - _she’ll look just like you_ \- and though Anna knows that there’s time for it to change, she can’t help but grin at the sight of her blonde hair. 

It’s the last thing that Kristoff will have expected, she thinks - to have a daughter that’s just like him.

Funnily enough, Anna had a feeling that she would be. 

She thinks about the first time that she ever laid eyes upon him, this tall, broad man; all clenched fists and scowling face, tense shoulders and narrowed eyes, and she would have never imagined then that that man could ever look - could ever _be_ \- like this. 

He’s stronger than anyone she’s ever known, firm and and hard and powerful; but he’s so soft, too, so tender and careful and warm, and she knows now that it was never a case of changing him. 

This always has been him. 

There were so many times when the lines were blurred, of course, times when the distinction between Kristoff and The Captain weren’t as clear or as defined as she wished that they could have been, but now that they’re here - now that their daughter is here - Anna thinks that it’s somehow easier.

 _You can’t be both,_ she had told him. _You have to choose._

And he had made his choice. 

It was inevitable, of course - Kristoff had always made his feelings rather clear when it came to the idea of raising a child on the ship, and Anna had never had to think about asking him to give up this life since she knew that it was never a topic that would be up for discussion in the first place.

_It’s not an appropriate place for a child._

Anna didn't understand what he meant back then - didn't know why he was so passionate about the issue, didn't know why he was so _angry_ about it, too - but she gets it, now.

She understands, and she agrees.

She’s been watching him carefully cradle their daughter against his chest, his expression full of awe in a way that she’s never seen from him before, but he eventually turns his head and catches her watching him. His lips twist from a soft, happy smile into a knowing smirk, and he narrows his eyes playfully.

“What?” he asks, but his smile broadens and gives him away, and _god,_ he knows what she’s thinking, she’s certain that he does, and so she laughs lightly and shakes her head. 

“I just -” she starts, then sighs as she drinks in the sight of them a little longer. “I love you,” she says, and she wiggles over the mattress so that she’s much closer to him. “I love you _so_ much.”

Anna loops her arm through his, bringing her small hand to rest in the crook of his elbow as she leans herself into him, and Kristoff’s eyes flutter to a close as she tilts her chin and brushes the tip of her nose against his.

“I love you, too,” he tells her, and she cranes her neck the tiniest bit further in order to close the distance between their lips. 

“I want to stay here tonight,” she says as she moves to rest her head against his shoulder and shuffles impossibly closer into his side, her eyes once again focusing on their daughter. She watches as she inhales and exhales, silently counting each breath, and Anna rakes her fingernails over her husband’s forearm. “Just one more night.” 

“Whatever you want,” he says without hesitation, his lips tickling against her hairline, and Anna finds herself overcome with emotion as the two of them watch the newborn carefully. “For now, though, why don’t you try and get some rest?” 

Anna lets out a soft breath at that, and her eyes flutter to a close as she feels him move to rest his cheek against the top of her head. Her cheeks almost ache from how much she has been smiling as she feels him rub affectionately against her hair.

“Alright,” she agrees, squeezing his forearm as she speaks, “but I’m staying right here.”

Goodbyes don’t necessarily have to be for forever, but Anna feels as though this just might be. 

This ship has been her home for the better part of a year, and she’s not the same person that she was when she boarded, nothing like the lost, scared girl who Kai came to collect. She’s stronger, now; confident and sure of herself, happy and secure, and she’s not alone anymore. 

Neither is he.

They have their family, now - not just Freja, but Bulda and Olaf, Mattias and Yelena - and they have Norway, too; but for now, Anna wants to stay here just for one more night, wants to revel in this space and enjoy their time together as a new family of three in a place where she feels safe, in a place that feels like home.

Everything - and every _one_ \- else can wait until tomorrow. 

The adrenaline that courses through her soon enough begins to fade and sleep well and truly pulls her in, but not before she hears him start to sing a gentle lullaby, and Anna bites down on her bottom lip at the sound of the familiar song.

The curtains behind their bed are open, though neither of them notice the thick, heavy snow that falls outside. Anna's so happy that she's certain she could burst from this feeling, and no dream could ever come close the the way that this feels right now - to be cozy and warm and snuggled close into her husband’s side, to have their newborn daughter settled in skin-to-skin against his broad chest -

To be at peace, just the three of them in their own little world.

.

.

.

When she was sixteen years old, Anna Arendelle believed that her world had ended.

Now, almost four years later, Anna Bjorgman knows that her life is only just beginning.


	40. epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “A ship in harbor is safe, but that is not what ships are built for.”
> 
> \- John A Shedd

There was a time when Anna had never so much as considered the sea, and there was a time when it was all that she knew; and so life in-between is fairly strange, at first.

Still, they adjust to it together. 

It’s more of a challenge for her husband, considering the fact that he spent twenty-three years out on the waves compared to her ten months, but she finds some comfort in knowing that the house itself is something that’s new for them both. 

Whilst life at sea is dangerous and wild and unpredictable in so many ways, there are other aspects of it that make it feel somewhat safer, more secure; and though there’s always the chance that another boat could approach and take siege of the ship, it was always rather unlikely. 

It’s different out here, and Anna thinks that’s what troubles him the most. Their beautiful white house sits proud and strong on the hill, and whilst she finds comfort in the fact that the rest of the town is just a few minutes walk away, she knows that Kristoff feels unexpectedly vulnerable out here. 

And so for the first few weeks, he insists on sleeping with a gun in the bedroom. 

She doesn’t like the idea of it and she tells him as much, but the look of utter dread that fills his dark eyes every time that he thinks he hears one of the floorboards creak has her relenting. 

_Temporarily,_ she insists, and he nods.

They didn’t want the sort of life that being at sea brought for their daughter, and yet she knows that it still tortures him, still pricks and pokes and haunts him in the darkness of their large bedroom, in the hallways of their grand house; and all that she can do is wrap her arms around his torso and hope that her tight hold on his large frame is still enough to keep the nightmares at bay.

In the beginning, there are nights when all that he seems to do is toss and turn, and Anna’s _exhausted_ . Freja feeds frequently throughout the day and night, and her naive belief that the lack of sleep that came with pregnancy was preparation for _this_ is proven to be incredibly wrong, but still, she comforts him as best she can; brushes the hair away from his forehead and places chaste kisses to his skin, whispers to him that it’s fine, that he’s safe, that nobody is coming for him - that nobody is coming for _any_ of them - and she hopes with everything that she has that he believes her.

There’s someone new to worry about, though; and oh, does he worry. 

Anna wakes up to find him leaning over their daughter’s crib in the middle of the night more times than she can count in those first few weeks, and she yawns as she reaches out to touch him, her fingers aiming for his bicep, his forearm, his hand - whatever is the closest, and wherever brings him back to her the quickest. 

“Kristoff,” she yawns, her voice thick with sleep, “what are you doing?”

The blonde raises a finger to his pursed lips - a silent gesture for her to be quiet - and Anna frowns as she squints over at him, her eyes adjusting to the darkness of their bedroom. 

“Is she okay?” Anna asks, confused, and whilst Kristoff nods his head, his eyes remain focused on their sleeping daughter. 

She wants to coax him back to bed, wants to to call him back to her; but even if he complies, she thinks it’s likely that she’ll find him like this once more, and Anna knows he’ll sleep better knowing that their daughter is safe and warm and content.

She closes her eyes and settles herself back down against the soft pillows, and as she begins to drift once more, she hears the distinct sound of him humming. She doesn’t need to open her eyes to know that he’ll be carefully stroking one of his fingers over Freja’s face, desperate to touch her and make sure that she’s real, that she’s there, that she’s _his_ \- 

Just like he still does to her. 

.

.

.

The white house is beautiful, and Anna can’t thank her mother-in-law enough for all of the hard work that she put into making sure that their new home was ready for them whilst they were out at sea, continuing to deliver shipments of the vaccine for as long as possible. 

Bulda and Olaf visit almost every other day - sometimes two days in a row, dependent on what’s going on around town - and whilst Kristoff rolls his eyes whenever they arrive, his broad smile always gives his true feelings away, and Anna’s more than grateful for the company. 

So much of her life was spent alone, and she doesn’t have to be, anymore. 

She doesn’t _want_ to be. 

The arrival of their daughter has Anna wondering about her parents more often than before. She wonders what they would make of her, what they would make of their granddaughter; and she often looks out of their bedroom window to the sky with wide eyes and a heavy heart, finds herself entranced by the lights that kiss the stars, and she tries not to torment herself with questions that she’ll never know the answers to. 

The night that Kai came for her, Anna took one picture of her family with her, and it now sits framed on her bedside table. Freja is _perfect_ \- all bright blue eyes and soft blonde curls, chubby fists and toothless smiles that melt her heart - and as she looks from her sleeping daughter to the picture, the tension in her shoulders eases.

Anna doesn’t need to wonder - she’s certain that her parents would have adored her.

.

.

.

Much to her relief, the gun disappears after a mere few weeks, and Kristoff’s sleeping pattern greatly improves along with their daughter’s. 

It’s easier, being able to fall asleep each night knowing that the only thing that will wake them both is the sound of Freja’s cries whenever she wakes for her feeds, and Anna smiles as he pulls her into his arms and settles her against his chest.

It’s taking time, of course, but slowly but surely, she thinks that they’re adjusting to life in Norway - as a family of three - rather well. 

.

.

.

Freja is almost five months old by the time that the ship returns to Norway, and Anna crouches beside Olaf and waves excitedly as the crew begin to depart. She turns her head over her shoulder and grins at Kristoff, and the blonde returns her bright smile before he looks down at their daughter. 

She’s securely placed in the baby carrier in the centre of his chest, both of her hands wrapped around his fingers, and she coos softly as he bends his knees and bounces lightly. Anna’s chest tightens at the sight - he’s so _good_ with her, such a natural that she can’t quite believe this is the same man who was terrified by Olaf - and she wishes that she would have brought her polaroid with them so that she could capture the moment. 

Yelena opens her mouth to greet them as Anna pushes herself back up to stand at her full height, but Mattias beats her to it as he lets out a loud, dramatic gasp; and he drops his bag unceremoniously on the floor before he strides over towards Kristoff, his eyes wide and his smile equally bright.

“You’ve got to be _kidding_ me,” he says, disbelief in his tone, “ _Freja_! Look at you how much you’ve grown!” 

Kristoff returns Mattias’ pleased expression, and Anna listens as he proudly rattles off information about how well she’s been feeding and how she’s not only smiling and laughing but she’s babbling now, too; and _oh,_ she can roll over and she can sit up if you give her a hand and - 

Yelena nudges her with one of her elbow’s, and there’s a familiar look in the older woman’s dark eyes; and Anna knows exactly what she’s going to say before she says it.

“Please tell me you’ve at least _thought_ about contraception,” Yelena says with a quirked brow, and Anna’s eyes widen as a guilty look twists over her face. Yelena doesn’t miss it, and she huffs out a breath. “I told you once before that that man could get you pregnant just by looking at you, and look what happened then.”

Anna can’t help but smile at the memory, and she glances over her shoulder once more. 

Mattias is bent at the knees, now; babbling away to Freja and making her giggle whilst Kristoff laughs along, too, and she exhales a long breath through her nose. 

“Yeah,” she grins, “look what happened.”

Yelena isn’t amused. 

“You know exactly what I mean,” the older woman says, “if you don’t want two under two, then I suggest you get thinking.”

“Well, I’m breastfeeding, so I -”

“And you believe those old wives tales?” Yelena interrupts, and she shakes her head quickly. “I’ll fix you up a broth, and if you don’t want another, then make sure you take it properly, this time.”

“And if I do?” Anna asks, the question surprising her; and Yelena smirks knowingly. 

“Well,” she says, “then I suggest you let me know once you find out so that we can make amendments to the shipping routes.”

.

.

.

It’s another fourteen months before Tobias arrives, though by the time that he does, they’ve well and truly settled into their home in Norway; and so Anna opts to give birth there, with Yelena on hand for support whilst Freja stays with Bulda. 

The actual labour itself is altogether much quicker than it was the first time round, although their son is _awkward,_ to say the least; positioned with his back to her own, and he’s born with his face turned towards the sky - _a stargazer,_ Yelena tells her - and the older woman explains that his position was the reason why it seemed to hurt so much more this time round, and explains that it’s why she tears, too. 

After a long feed on the breast and an even longer period of skin-to-skin, Anna passes the newborn over to his father; and there’s something about seeing Kristoff with a tiny baby in his arms that sends her heart soaring, even just a few hours after a painful birth. 

He smiles down at the bundle in his arms as he covers them with the blanket, and Anna winces as she moves to stand. 

“You okay?” he asks her, his dark eyes filled with concern, and she nods as she pushes past the initial stinging and stands on wobbly legs.

“I’m fine,” Anna tells him as she stretches her legs and makes a few trembling steps, and his expression softens as she begins to pad around their bedroom. 

His eyes flicker from their son back up to her as the first tell-tale signs of morning light begin to kiss the dark sky, and his lips pull into a knowing smirk as she regards him.

“He kicked your ass,” he tells her, and she can’t help but laugh softly. 

“He did,” she agrees, and then she shakes her head softly. “ _Never_ again. I mean it, this time.”

.

.

.

It’s not the last time, after all - they’re blessed with another son the following year, though they’re both in agreement that Josef will be their last, and Yelena smirks knowingly when Anna seeks her out and requests some of her broth. 

.

.

.

Kristoff’s happy, she knows; comfortable and relaxed, at ease and at peace now, and Anna thinks that this is where his true calling lies - not out at sea, but in their home, surrounded by his children. 

For all that he told her of his concerns for fatherhood, he takes to it so naturally; and he entertains the little ones with games and stories - he’s more than perfected the different voices, too - whilst dealing with temper tantrums and cuts and bruises as easily as she does. It doesn’t _surprise_ her, exactly - there had never been any doubt in her mind that he’d be an amazing father - but it’s still so lovely to see him like this, and the knowing look in his eyes whenever he catches her watching has her thinking that they might reconsider _never again_ after all. 

And whilst both of their sons are all her - not just Tobias’ fiery red hair or Josef’s bright blue eyes - Freja has always been so very much like him, and Anna knows that that alone troubles him.

She approaches her husband with a smile, and he’s stood by the large rocks that litter the seafront; his arms crossed over his chest and his dark eyes narrowed as he watches their daughter gather up shells, her smile wide and her own eyes bright as she turns around and shows him each one that she finds.

He lets out a heavy sigh as Anna loops one of her arms into his, her palm coming to rest upon one of his forearms, and she leans her head against his shoulder whilst she watches the six year old rinse one of the shells in the water.

“She seems like she’s having fun,” Anna comments, and he hums in response. “She always does whenever she’s out here.”

“Anna,” he grumbles, and she pulls her head away from his shoulder so that she can blink up at him. 

“Kristoff,” she responds, the corners of her mouth twitching into a small smile even as he frowns down at her. “What? Don’t tell me you don’t see it, too.”

“Don’t see what?” 

“She’s just like you,” she tells him.

It’s not just her soft blonde hair and her golden skin that makes Freja so much like her father, but her stubborn, headstrong personality. The young girl is forever bossing her younger brothers around, and she already knows exactly what she wants and how to go about getting it; and no matter how much Kristoff doesn’t like her being out here, he never tells her no, either.

The offer still stands, as it always does - they can go out to sea whenever they wish, as a family or as individuals. The ship still belongs to Kristoff, to the Bjorgman family; and whilst they’re settled here in Norway, Anna knows that’s not the only reason her husband is reluctant to take the children out on the ship. 

“You’re not going to be able to keep it from her forever,” Anna continues, “it’s in her blood.”

He drops his arms down to his sides as he raises a hand to his face, and Anna smiles softly as she watches him run one of his hands over his face.

“I know,” he tells her, “I do, it’s just…”

He trails off, unable to finish; but Anna understands - at least, she thinks that she does - and she laces her fingers through his and squeezes his palm. 

“I know,” she tells him, and his shoulders sag as he offers her a small smile. 

.

.

.

The crows nest always did feel a little bit like heaven, she thinks - somewhere that she could escape to, somewhere where all of her troubles would disappear, where she could finally be _free,_ and she laughs softly as the salty wind ripples through her hair and sends it whipping behind her back. 

Kristoff chuckles, too; and she smiles fondly at him as he drapes one of his arms over both of her shoulders and leans in close, placing a quick kiss to her temple. 

“Do you remember the first time that you joined me up here?” she asks, her eyes twinkling as she grins at him. “Or - or when you ripped up the contract. And the first time that you kissed me here, too?”

He rolls his dark eyes affectionately at her as he pulls her closer to his side, his lips turning up into a knowing smirk. 

“Of course I do,” he tells her, and then, “want me to do it again?”

She giggles happily as she nods her head, and his chapped lips are pressed over her own just a few seconds later. 

She hadn’t realised just how much she had missed this. There’s something so exciting about returning to sea, and even though it’s only for a brief journey, it still feels good to be back out on the waves, to be sat at the top of the crows nest with her husband. The fact that they’ve brought their children and his mother along with them for the journey has Anna feeling as though they’ve come full-circle - especially when she watches Kristoff nearly have heart failure at the sight of his daughter scrambling up the rigging - and she grins as she leans further into him, deepening their kiss.

Eventually, he pulls away, though his large hands move to cup her face as he strokes his thumbs over her cheekbones. 

“I love you,” he tells her, and she hears those three words every single day - has done for years, now - but there’s something about hearing them _here_ that causes tears to prick in her eyes, and she swallows thickly before she lets out a small laugh.

“I love you, too,” she responds, and then she kisses him again.

The salty breeze continues to whip around them, and though the crew are busy working on the deck below and though their children are fast asleep in their old quarter’s; for a moment, it feel like they’re alone, like it’s just the two of them once more; just Anna and Kristoff at the top of the crow’s nest, surrounded by nothing but calm waves and a pink sky - 

\- and the odd squawking gull, of course - just for good measure. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well - there we have it! this story is complete!
> 
> in case you missed it, liv wrote sailing through smut as part of a smut exchange with me and ive now decided that _this_ is how they end up with Tobias -  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/24380965
> 
> also, here is the amazing playlist once more that laura made for this fic -  
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7wG0tSPsi0n57vJDirWUuw?si=ccKkf5NnTyiRHpSUhIHm0w
> 
> thank you _so_ much for all of your love and support with this story! i cant thank everyone who has read it and left kudos and reviewed it enough. your lovely comments and messages have been so lovely to read, too - im going to spend this evening going back through and respond to all of the ones ive missed! - and its been so nice to know that other people have loved this version of Anna and Captain Kristoff as much as I have :) 
> 
> I do have a few kind of one-shots/drabbles in the works for this verse so it's not goodbye forever, it's just goodbye for now; and despite all the madness in the beginning, they got their happy ending, they got Norway, and they got their babies! hehehe


End file.
